Mr. Heron, whatever he may have looked, was feeling anything but well at that moment; for he suspected than the lawyer was only masking his attack, and that he meant to spring upon him presently.
"I enjoy fairly good health, Mr. Wordley, thank you," he said, in his sanctimonious way; "but I have my share of trials and anxieties in this miserable world."
"Oh, don't call it miserable, on a morning like this!" said Mr. Wordley, cheerfully. "My dear sir, there is nothing the matter with the world; it's—er—some of the people in it that try to make it miserable."
While he had been speaking, he had been glancing at the door and listening, as if he had been listening and expecting to hear and see someone else.
"The fact is," he said, "I have come up rather suddenly on rather important business: came up without a moment's delay. Where is Miss Ida? I should like to see her at once, please, if I may!"
The faces of the pair grew sallow, and the corners of John Heron's mouth dropped lower even than usual.
"Ida?" he said, in a hollow voice, as if he were confused. "Where is she? Surely you know, Mr. Wordley?"
"I know? How should I know? I came up to see her: not a moment to spare. Isn't she here? Why do you both stare at me like this?"
"She is not here," said John Heron. "Ida left our house more than a fortnight ago."
Mr. Wordley looked disappointed, and grunted: