at home?’ he said to the servant.  He always asked for Lady Demolines.  But the page who was accustomed to open the door for him was less false, being young, and would now tell him, without any further fiction, that Miss Madalina was in the drawing-room.  Such was the answer he got from the page on this evening.  What Madalina did with her mother on these occasions he had never yet discovered.  There used to be some little excuses given about Lady Demolines’ state of health, but latterly Madalina had discontinued her references to her mother’s headaches.  She was standing in the centre of the drawing-room when he entered it, with both her hands raised, and an almost terrible expression of mystery in her face.  Her hair, however, had been very carefully arranged so as to fall with copious carelessness down her shoulders, and altogether she was looking her best.  ‘Oh, John,’ she said.  She called him John by accident in the tumult of the moment.  ’Have you heard what has happened?  But of course you have heard it.’

‘Heard what?  I have heard nothing,’ said Johnny, arrested almost in the doorway by the nature of the question—­and partly also, no doubt, by the tumult of the moment.  He had no idea how terrible a tragedy was in truth in store for him; but he perceived that the moment was to be tumultuous, and that he must carry himself accordingly.

‘Come in and close the door,’ she said.  He came in and closed the door.  ’Do you mean to say that you haven’t heard what has happened in Hook Court?’

‘No;—­what has happened in Hook Court?’ Miss Demolines threw herself back into an arm-chair, closed her eyes, and clasped both her hands upon her forehead.  ‘What has happened in Hook Court?’ said Johnny, walking up to her.

‘I do not think I can bring myself to tell you.’

Then he took one of her hands down from her forehead and held it in his—­which she allowed passively.  She was thinking, no doubt, of something far different from that.

‘I never saw you looking better in your life,’ said Johnny.

‘Don’t,’ said she.  ’How can you talk in that way, when my heart is bleeding—­bleeding.’  Then she pulled away her hand, and again clasped it with the other upon her forehead.

‘But why is your heart bleeding?  What has happened in Hook Court?’ Still she answered nothing, but she sobbed violently and the heaving of her bosom showed how tumultuous was the tumult within it.  ’You don’t mean to say that Dobbs Broughton has come to grief—­that he’s to be sold out?’

‘Man,’ said Madalina, jumping up from her chair, standing at her full height, and stretching out both her arms, ‘he has destroyed himself!’ The revelation was at last made with so much tragic propriety, in so excellent a tone, and with such an absence of all the customary redundancies of commonplace relation, that I think that she must have rehearsed the scene—­either with her mother or with the page.  Then there was a minute’s silence,