A couple of hours later he had delivered the letter, in person, to his ancle at Hampstead, and was seated in the parlour of Mr. Twisden's villa, overlooking a strip of garden, with the heath beyond. He lit a cigar while his uncle read.
"What did the maid say to you?" asked the old gentleman, as he replaced the letter in the envelope.
"Very little, except that she had left Miss Shaw on the Continent."
"I may trust you, George, not to repeat that? "
"Certainly. I suppose she is eccentric?"
"Well, yes—I must allow she is eccentric; but a clever young woman—a very clever young woman. She has got ideas which—which it is no use in the world to combat. She will grow wiser in time. The only thing, as I tell her uncle, is to leave her alone. She wants to live incog.—that no one shall know she is an heiress. Well, the only thing is to let her. All this is in confidence, George. I am committing no breach of trust in telling you thus much; but understand, you are not to mention Miss Shaw or her affairs to any one."
"It is the last thing I should think of doing," said his nephew; and he spoke the truth.
A week later Mr. Twisden was able to resume his daily visits to Gray's Inn, and George Daintree began to show a yellow stubble on his upper lip. His uncle, observing this, said with a smile—
"I see you are preparing for a trip abroad, and wish to discard Gray's Inn as much as possible?"
"I confess I do," returned the young man, frankly. "I
