“What do you think of that, Horne?”

“I think, sir, that it must be more than a coincidence; that Mrs. Jacobs must be the wife of the man who was my father’s manager.”

“Well, I think so, too.  I know Jacobs’s wife had an impediment in her speech.  The odd part of the business is that he should have disappeared at Limehouse, the very place where one would have thought he would have an objection to turning up at all, connected as it was with his old peculations.  I suppose he thought they were forgotten by this time.”

“I suppose so.”

Dudley still looked very white.  He took up the paper again, as if to re-read the paragraph.  But Doreen, from her post of vantage on the floor, saw that he held it before him with eyes fixed.  Mr. Wedmore, after a little hesitation, and after vainly trying to get another look at the face of the younger man, went on again: 

“I thought you would be struck by this; the subject turning up again in this odd way, just when you’ve been interesting yourself so much in the old story!”

Down went the paper, and Dudley looked into the face of Mr. Wedmore.

“Interesting myself in it!  Have I?  How do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve asked a good many questions about this Jacobs, and wondered what had become of him.  I fancy you have the answer in that paragraph.”

There was a pause, and Dudley seemed to recollect something.  Then he said: 

“Oh, yes, I think I have.  The man has fallen upon bad times, evidently.  I—­I—­I’m sorry for his wife.”

“And the man himself—­haven’t you forgiven him yet?”

Dudley started, and glanced quickly round, as if the simple words had been an accusation.

“Forgiven him?  Oh, yes, long ago.  At least—­” He paused a moment, and then added, inquiringly:  “What had I to forgive?”

“Well, to tell the truth, Horne, that’s just what I have often asked myself, when you have insisted upon raking up all the details of poor Jacobs’s misdeeds!  Why, your poor father, who was ruined by his dishonesty, never showed half the animosity you do.  I could have understood it if you had suffered by his frauds.  But have you?  You have been well educated; you have started well in life.  And on the whole, no man who has arrived at your age can honestly say that it would have been better for him to start life with a fortune at his back, eh?”

“No.”

Dudley got up from his chair.  He seemed agitated and uneasy, and soon took advantage of Mr. Wedmore’s suggestion, somewhat dryly made, that he was tired after his journey and would like to go to bed.

When he had left the room, Mr. Wedmore turned angrily to his daughter.

“Now, Doreen, I will have no more of this nonsense.  Dudley is beginning all the old tricks over again—­absence of mind, indifference to you—­did he even look at you as he said good night?—­and morbid interest in this old, forgotten business of Jacobs and his misdoings.  I won’t have any more of it, and I shall tell him plainly that we don’t care to have him down here until he can bring a livelier face and manner with him!”