Alfred laughed, and whistled a tune as he continued the perusal of Mr. Keene’s political and social intelligence, on the whole as trustworthy as the style in which it was written was terse and elegant.  Adela, finding she could feign indifference no longer, went from the room.

‘Where did you get this?’ Mrs. Waltham asked with eagerness as soon as the girl was gone.

‘From the writer himself,’ Alfred replied, visibly proud of his intimacy with a man of letters.  ’Fellow called Keene.  Had a long talk with him.’

‘About this?’

’Oh, no.  I’ve only just come across it.  But he said he’d marked something for Mutimer.  I’m to pass the paper on to him.’

‘I suppose this is the same woman—?’

‘No doubt.’

‘You think it’s true?’

’True?  Why, of course it is.  A newspaper with a reputation to support can’t go printing people’s names at haphazard.  Keene’s very thick with all the London actors.  He told me some first-class stories about—­’

‘Never mind,’ interposed his mother.  ’Well, to think it should come to this!  I’m sure I feel for poor Mrs. Eldon.  Really there is no end to her misfortunes.’

‘Just how such families always end up,’ observed Alfred complacently.  ’No doubt he’ll drink himself to death, or something of that kind, and then we shall have the pleasure of seeing a new tablet in the church, inscribed with manifold virtues; or even a stained-glass window:  the last of the Eldons deserves something noteworthy.’

’I think it’s hardly a subject for joking, Alfred.  It is very, very sad.  And to think what a fine handsome boy he used to be!  But he was always dreadfully self-willed.’

’He was always an impertinent puppy!  How he’ll play the swell on his wife’s earnings!  Oh, our glorious aristocracy!’

Mrs. Waltham went early to her daughter’s room.  Adela was sitting with her Bible before her—­had sat so since coming upstairs, yet had not read three consecutive verses.  Her face showed no effect of tears, for the heat of a consuming suspense had dried the fountains of woe.

‘I don’t like to occupy your mind with such things, my dear,’ began her mother, ’but perhaps as a warning I ought to show you the news Alfred spoke of.  It pleases Providence that there should be evil in the world, and for our own safety we must sometimes look it in the face, especially we poor women, Adela.  Will you read that?’

Adela read.  She could not criticise the style, but it affected her as something unclean; Hubert’s very name suffered degradation when used in such a way.  Prepared for worse things than that which she saw, no shock of feelings was manifest in her.  She returned the paper without speaking.

’I wanted you to see that my behaviour to Mr. Eldon was not unjustified,’ said her mother.  ’You don’t blame me any longer, dear?’

‘I have never blamed you, mother.’