certed; but his smile promptly effaced all signs of vexation, and he held his hand out affably.
“A fine evening, Mr. Amherst. I’m glad to say I have been able to bring Mrs. Westmore an excellent report of both patients—Mr. Truscomb, I mean, and poor Dillon. This mild weather is all in their favour, and I hope my brother—in—law will be about in a day or two." He passed on with a nod.
Amherst was once more shown into the library where he had found Mrs. Westmore that morning; but on this occasion it was Mr. Tredegar who rose to meet him, and curtly waved him to a seat at a respectful distance from his own. Amherst at once felt a change of atmosphere, and it was easy to guess that the lowering of temperature was due to Dr. Disbrow’s recent visit. The thought roused the young man’s combative instincts, and caused him to say, as Mr. Tredegar continued to survey him in silence from the depths of a capacious easy-chair: “I understood from Mrs. Westmore that she wished to see me this evening.”
It was the wrong note, and he knew it; but he had been unable to conceal his sense of the vague current of opposition in the air.
“Quite so: I believe she asked you to come,” Mr. Tredegar assented, laying his hands together vertically, and surveying Amherst above the acute angle formed
by his parched finger—tips. As he leaned back, small,
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