Lady Loring was not quite of her husband’s opinion.  “While there is a doubt about these people,” she said, “it seems only just to find out what sort of character they bear in the neighborhood.  In your place, Major Hynd, I should apply to the person in whose house they live, or to the tradespeople whom they have employed.”

“I am obliged to leave London again to-day,” the Major replied; “but on my return I will certainly follow your ladyship’s advice.”

“And you will let us know the result?”

“With the greatest pleasure.”

Major Hynd took his leave.  “I think you will be responsible for wasting the Major’s time,” said Lord Loring, when the visitor had retired.

“I think not,” said Lady Loring.

She rose to leave the room.  “Are you going out?” her husband asked.

“No.  I am going upstairs to Stella.”

Lady Loring found Miss Eyrecourt in her own room.  The little portrait of Romayne which she had drawn from recollection lay on the table before her.  She was examining it with the closest attention.

“Well, Stella, and what does the portrait tell you?”

“What I knew before, Adelaide.  There is nothing false and nothing cruel in that face.”

“And does the discovery satisfy you?  For my part, I despise Romayne for hiding himself from us.  Can you excuse him?”

Stella locked up the portrait in her writing-case.  “I can wait,” she said quietly.

This assertion of patience seemed to irritate Lady Loring “What is the matter with you this morning?” she asked.  “You are more reserved than ever.”

“No; I am only out of spirits, Adelaide.  I can’t help thinking of that meeting with Winterfield.  I feel as if some misfortune was hanging over my head.”

“Don’t speak of that hateful man!” her ladyship exclaimed.  “I have something to tell you about Romayne.  Are you completely absorbed in your presentiments of evil? or do you think you can listen to me?”

Stella’s face answered for her.  Lady Loring described the interview with Major Hynd in the minutest detail—­including, by way of illustration, the Major’s manners and personal appearance.  “He and Lord Loring,” she added, “both think that Romayne will never hear the last of it if he allows these foreigners to look to him for money.  Until something more is known about them, the letter is not to be forwarded.”

“I wish I had the letter,” cried Stella.

“Would you forward it to Romayne?”

“Instantly!  Does it matter whether these poor French people are worthy of his generosity?  If it restores his tranquillity to help them, who cares whether they deserve the help?  They are not even to know who it is that assists them—­Romayne is to be their unknown friend.  It is he, not they, whom we have to think of—­his peace of mind is everything; their merit is nothing.  I say it’s cruel to him to keep him in ignorance of what has happened.  Why didn’t you take the letter away from Major Hynd?”