Half an hour after receiving this information, I was on my way to Portland Place—­without having had the courage to own it to Mr. Bruff!

The man who answered the door was not sure whether Miss Verinder was at home or not.  I sent him upstairs with my card, as the speediest way of setting the question at rest.  The man came down again with an impenetrable face, and informed me that Miss Verinder was out.

I might have suspected other people of purposely denying themselves to me.  But it was impossible to suspect Rachel.  I left word that I would call again at six o’clock that evening.

At six o’clock I was informed for the second time that Miss Verinder was not at home.  Had any message been left for me.  No message had been left for me.  Had Miss Verinder not received my card?  The servant begged my pardon—­Miss Verinder had received it.

The inference was too plain to be resisted.  Rachel declined to see me.

On my side, I declined to be treated in this way, without making an attempt, at least, to discover a reason for it.  I sent up my name to Mrs. Merridew, and requested her to favour me with a personal interview at any hour which it might be most convenient to her to name.

Mrs. Merridew made no difficulty about receiving me at once.  I was shown into a comfortable little sitting-room, and found myself in the presence of a comfortable little elderly lady.  She was so good as to feel great regret and much surprise, entirely on my account.  She was at the same time, however, not in a position to offer me any explanation, or to press Rachel on a matter which appeared to relate to a question of private feeling alone.  This was said over and over again, with a polite patience that nothing could tire; and this was all I gained by applying to Mrs. Merridew.

My last chance was to write to Rachel.  My servant took a letter to her the next day, with strict instructions to wait for an answer.

The answer came back, literally in one sentence.

“Miss Verinder begs to decline entering into any correspondence with Mr. Franklin Blake.”

Fond as I was of her, I felt indignantly the insult offered to me in that reply.  Mr. Bruff came in to speak to me on business, before I had recovered possession of myself.  I dismissed the business on the spot, and laid the whole case before him.  He proved to be as incapable of enlightening me as Mrs. Merridew herself.  I asked him if any slander had been spoken of me in Rachel’s hearing.  Mr. Bruff was not aware of any slander of which I was the object.  Had she referred to me in any way while she was staying under Mr. Bruff’s roof?  Never.  Had she not so much as asked, during all my long absence, whether I was living or dead?  No such question had ever passed her lips.  I took out of my pocket-book the letter which poor Lady Verinder had written to me from Frizinghall, on the day when I left her house in Yorkshire.  And I pointed Mr. Bruff’s attention to these two sentences in it: