her; it seemed to him that he had never loved her before.
Fenton, as he recognized him, was a comfortable sight, in spite of his detested identity. He was better than uncertainty. "You have news for me!" Roger cried. "Where is she?"
Fenton looked about him at his leisure, feeling, agreeably, that now he held the cards. "Gently," he said. "Had n't we better retire?" Upon which Roger, grasping his arm with grim devotion, led him to his own apartment. "I rather hit it," George went on. "I am not the fool you once tried to make me seem."
"Where is she,—tell me that!" Roger repeated.
"Allow me, dear sir," said Fenton, settling himself in spacious vantage. "If I have come here to oblige you, you must let me take my own way. You don't suppose I have rushed to meet you for the pleasure of the thing. I owe it to my cousin, in the first place, to say that I have come without her knowledge."
"If you mean only to torture me," Roger answered, "say so outright. Is she well? is she safe?"
"Safe? the safest creature in the city, sir! A delightful home, maternal care!"
Roger wondered whether Fenton was making horrible sport of his trouble; he turned cold at the thought of maternal care of his providing. But he admonished himself to lose nothing by arrogance. "I thank you extremely for your kindness. Nothing remains but that I should see her."
"Nothing, indeed! You are very considerate. You know that she particularly objects to seeing you."
