It was impossible that Sidney should not have reflected many a time on Michael Snowdon’s position, and have been moved to curiosity by hints of the mysterious when he thought of his friends in Hanover Street.  As it happened, he never saw those newspaper advertisements addressed to Joseph, and his speculation had nothing whatever to support it save the very few allusions to the past which Michael had permitted himself in the course of talk.  Plainly the old man had means sufficient for his support, end in all likelihood this independence was connected with his visit to Australia; but no act or word of Michael’s had ever suggested that he possessed more than a very modest competency.  It was not, indeed, the circumstances, so much as the character and views, of his friend that set Kirkwood pondering.  He did not yet know Michael Snowdon; of that he was convinced.  He had not fathomed his mind, got at the prime motive of his being.  Moreover, he felt that the old man was waiting for some moment, or some event, to make revelation of himself.  Since Joseph’s appearance, it had become more noticeable than ever that Snowdon suffered from some agitation of the mind; Sidney had met his eyes fixed upon him in a painful interrogation, and seemed to discern the importunity of a desire that was refused utterance.  His own condition was affected by sympathy with this restlessness, and he could not overcome the feeling that some decisive change was at hand for him.  Though nothing positive justified the idea, he began to connect this anticipation of change with the holiday that was approaching, the week to be spent in Essex at the end of July.  It had been his fear that Joseph’s presence might affect these arrangements, but Michael was evidently resolved to allow nothing of the kind.  One evening, a fortnight before the day agreed upon for leaving town, and when Joseph had made a call in Hanover Street, the old man took occasion to speak of the matter.  Joseph accepted the information with his usual pliancy.

‘I only wish my wife and me could join you,’ he remarked.  ’But it wouldn’t do to take a holiday so soon after settling to business.  Better luck for me next year, father, let’s hope.’

That he had settled to business was a fact of which Joseph made so much just now that one would have been tempted to suppose it almost a new experience for him.  His engagement, he declared, was with a firm of advertising agents in the City; nothing to boast of, unfortunately, and remunerative only in the way of commission; but he saw his way to better things.

‘Jane, my girl,’ he continued, averting his eyes as if in emotion, ’I don’t know how you and me are going to show our gratitude for all this kindness, I’m sure.  I hope you haven’t got so used to it that you think there’s no need to thank your grandfather?’

The girl and the old man exchanged a look.  Joseph sighed, and began to speak of another subject in a tone of cheery martyrdom.