Mr. Manners, the great contractor, sitting in his study at a table spread with legal documents and papers relating to his vast transactions, was informed by a man-servant that a stranger wished to see him.

"Who is he?" inquired Mr. Manners.

"I don't know, sir."

"Did he not give you his name?"

"I asked him for it, sir, and he said you did not know him, but that he came on very particular business, and must see you."

"Must!"

"That is what he said, sir."

Mr. Manners considered a moment. He had finished the writing upon which he had been engaged, and had a few minutes' leisure.

"What kind of man?"

"Neither one kind nor another, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"That he might be a gentleman, sir, and mightn't. It's hard to say."

"It generally is nowadays. Show him in."

The servant retired, and, ushering in Mr. Loveday, left the room.

"Well, sir?" said Mr. Manners. The contractor did not speak uncivilly, for the appearance of Mr. Loveday, who was fairly well attired, was in his favor; he might be a smaller contractor, or an inventor, or anything that was respectable.

"I have ventured to visit you, sir," said Mr. Loveday, without first seeking an introduction, "upon a matter of importance."

"My servant said upon particular business."

"He was scarcely correct, sir. I can hardly call my errand business, but it is no less important than the most important business."

"It is usual to send in a card, or a name."

"My name you will probably recognize, and I did not give it to the servant from fear that you might have refused to see me."

"This sounds like an intrusion. What may be your name?"

"Loveday, sir."

Mr. Manners did not start or betray agitation, but he looked keenly at his visitor. He was a man of method, and had on all occasions complete control over his passions. He recognized the name, the moment it was uttered, as that of the girl for whom his son had deserted him. Therefore, the name of an enemy; undoubtedly the name of an intruder.

"It is a name with which you suppose me to be familiar?"

"Yes, sir."

"I ask the question simply because there are coincidences, and I make it a rule to avoid mistakes. If you come from my son--"

"I do not, sir."

"But you are in association with him? You know him?"

"Only indirectly, sir. I have never seen your son."

"I refuse to take part in mysteries. You are related to the young woman for whom my son threw over his duty to me."

"I am the young lady's uncle."

"And your visit is in furtherance of an appeal from her or on her behalf?"

"On her behalf, but not from her. I did not inform her that I was coming."

"The information is of no interest to me. The appeal you speak of is of the usual kind. It is superfluous to ask if you are rich."

"I am not, sir."

"Poor?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very poor?"

"Very poor."

His frankness, his bearing, his aspect compelled a certain amount of respect, and it did not soften Mr. Manners to be made to feel this.

"Had you any hand in this marriage?" demanded Mr. Manners.

"None, sir. Had my advice been solicited, I should have been strongly against it. I am not going too far to say that I should not have sanctioned it, and should have thrown in what small amount of authority I possessed to prevent it, if your consent had not been first asked and obtained."

This view of the matter appeared to strike Mr. Manners, and he regarded his visitor with closer attention; but presently he frowned; it was as though the honor of the alliance was on Nansie's side instead of Kingsley's.

"I will not inquire into your reasons," he said, "except in so far as to ask whether your brother, the young woman's father, who, I understand, is dead--"

"Yes, sir, he is dead."

"Whether he made any effort to prevent the marriage? I speak of it as a marriage, although I have my reasons for doubting whether it could have been legally entered into."

"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. Loveday, much astonished.

"I decline discussion," said Mr. Manners. "I am not an idle speaker, and I know what I mean. We will call it a marriage. It does not affect the conduct of my son towards me. You heard my question. If you have an objection to answer it I shall not complain."

"I have no objection, sir. My brother knew nothing whatever of it until it was too late to interfere. The young people acted for themselves, without consulting a single person. It was a secret marriage."

Mr. Manners smiled. "Exactly. But my question is still not answered."

"My brother would have felt as I feel, sir. Without your sanction he would have withheld his consent, and would doubtless have succeeded in preventing the union."

"It would have been well if it had not taken place."

"I agree with you, sir."

Mr. Manners frowned again. His visitor was taking high ground.

"Come to the precise object of your visit," he said.

"The lamentable severance of the affectionate relations which existed between you and your son has been productive of much suffering. The young people have been driven hard--so hard that in the endeavor made by your son to obtain some sort of position which would hold out the hope of his being able to support her, they were compelled to separate. Your son went abroad and left his wife here in England, doubly orphaned, friendless, penniless, and unprotected. She appealed to me for shelter and temporary support, and I received her willingly, gladly. I will not indulge in sentiment, for I know you by repute to be a practical man, and it may be not only distasteful to you, but it may place me in a false light--as making a lame effort to influence you by means of which you may be suspicious; but it is due to my niece that I should declare in your presence that a sweeter, purer, more lovable woman does not breathe the breath of life. She is a lady, well-educated, gentle, and refined; and whatever value you may place upon my statement--which I solemnly avow to be true--you must agree that it is to the credit of your son that if he chose for his mate a lady who was poor, he at least chose one who, if fortune placed her in a high position, would be fitted to occupy it. Of this it is in your power to assure yourself, and you would then be able to judge whether I speak falsely or truly. Your son has been absent from England now for many months, and from his letters to his wife it may be gathered that he has been disappointed in his hopes and expectations, and it is certain that he has not benefited pecuniarily by the effort he made."

"He is reaping the fruits of his disobedience," said Mr. Manners.

Mr. Loveday made no comment on the interruption, but proceeded. "The consequence is that he has been unable to send his wife the smallest remittance. Until to-day this has been of no importance, as I was in a position to discharge the obligation I took upon myself when I received her into my home. Your son's affairs abroad became so desperate (and, in one vague sense, possibly compromising) that it was decided yesterday between my niece and myself to send him money to bring him home, in order that he might make another effort here to obtain a livelihood. I am speaking quite plainly, sir, and without ornament of any kind, and you will see to what straits your son is reduced."

"He is justly served," said Mr. Manners.

"It was but a small sum of money that was required," continued Mr. Loveday, "but I did not possess it. I had, however, books which I could sell--I am a bookseller by trade, sir--and last evening I left my house and place of business to negotiate the sale. Meanwhile my niece wrote to your son that I would supply her with the means for his return home, and that she would send him the money to-day. Upon my return, two or three hours later, I found my house in flames. The account of the fire, with my name, is in this morning's papers, and you may verify my statement. I was not insured, and nothing was saved. I am a beggar."

"It is, after all, then," said Mr. Manners, with a certain air of triumph, "on your own behalf that you are making this appeal to me."

"No, sir," replied Mr. Loveday, "I want nothing for myself; I shall rub along somehow, and hope to lift my head once more above adverse circumstance. My appeal is on behalf of your son's wife. I am unable to fulfil the promise I made to furnish her with the small sum required to bring your son home. I ask you respectfully and humbly to give it to me or to send it to her direct to this address." He laid a piece of paper, with writing on it, on the table. "If you would prefer to hand it to her personally she will call upon you for the purpose."

"You have spoken temperately," said Mr. Manners, with cold malice in his tones. "What is the amount you require?"

"Ten pounds, sir," replied Mr. Loveday, animated by a sudden and unexpected hope.

Mr. Manners touched a bell on his table. A servant appeared.

"Show this person to the door," he said.

"Is that your answer, sir?" asked Mr. Loveday, sadly.

"Show this person to the door," repeated Mr. Manners to the servant.

"I implore you," said Mr. Loveday, strongly agitated. "When I tell you that you have a grandchild but a few weeks old; that the poor lady, your son's wife, is in a delicate state of health--"

"Did you hear what I ordered?" said Mr. Manners to the servant, and repeated again: "Show this person to the door."