This was pleasant news to send to her father!  With him things were going as well as he had anticipated, and before long he was able to make substantial remittances, but his letters were profoundly sad.  In a year’s time, the family quitted Southampton and took the house at Hampstead; with much expense and difficulty Madeline was removed.  Mrs. Denyer and Barbara were weary of provincial life, and considered nothing in their resolve to be within reach of London amusements.  Zillah was living as governess with a family in Yorkshire.

They had been settled at Hampstead three weeks, when information reached them that Mr. Denyer was dead of yellow fever.

On the day when this news came, the house received no less important a visitor than Mr. Musselwhite.  Long ago, Mrs. Denyer had written to him from Southampton, addressing her letter to the club in London of which he had spoken; she had received a prompt reply, dated from rooms in London, and thenceforth the correspondence was established.  But Mr. Musselwhite never spoke of coming to Southampton; his letters ended with “Sincere regards to Miss Denyer and the other young ladies,” but they contained nothing that was more to the point.  He wrote about the weather chiefly.  Arrived in London, Mrs. Denyer at once sent an invitation, and to her annoyance this remained unanswered.  To-day the explanation was forthcoming; Mr. Musselwhite had been on a journey, and by some mistake the letter had only come into his hands when he returned.  He was most gentlemanly in his expressions of condolement with the family in their distress; he sat with them, moreover, much longer than was permissible under the circumstances by the code of society.  And on going, he begged to be allowed to see them frequently—­that was all.

Barbara could not control herself for irritation; Mrs. Denyer was indignant.  Yet, after all, was it to be expected that the visitor should say or do more on such an occasion as this?  In any case, he knew what their position was; all had been put before him, as though he were a member of the family.  If they succeeded in obtaining whatever Mr. Denyer had died possessed of, it would certainly be nothing more than a provision for the present.  When they spoke of taking a lodger for their first floor, Mr. Musselwhite agreed that this was a good thought, whilst shaking his gentlemanly head over the necessity.

He came again and again, always sadly sympathetic.  He would sit in the drawing-room for an hour, pulling his whiskers and moustaches nervously, often glancing at Barbara, making the kindest inquiries concerning Madeline, for whom he actually brought flowers.  On one of these occasions, he told them that his brother the baronet was very ill, down at the “place in Lincolnshire.”  And after mentioning this, he fell into abstraction.