In the meantime, Mrs. Brander and Vernon had reached the house, and had been met at the door by the vicar, who seemed placidly amused by the triumph and satisfaction he saw on his wife’s face, and by the subdued and even hangdog expression on that of his brother.
Dinner was waiting; and the vicar, who was as much disturbed by such an occurrence as he ever was about anything, hastened to lead the way to the dining-room, gently murmuring disapproval of his wife’s conduct in leaving the house at such a critical moment. The meal passed uncomfortably; for the unexplained uneasiness under which Vernon was evidently laboring could not fail to effect, in some degree, even his rather stolid brother. When they all adjourned to the drawing-room, the constraint of his manner became so apparent that Meredith, used to an atmosphere of calm respect for himself and content with things in general, laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder and asked him, with benevolent peremptoriness, if there was anything the matter.
Vernon who was standing by a table, turning over the leaves of a magazine with unmistakable lack of interest, started violently, and caused his sister-in-law to look up from the needle work with which her handsome, industrious fingers were nearly always employed. Her quick eyes discovered, at a glance, that there was some more serious reason for his melancholy than she had supposed. She rose and with a thrill of vague anxiety laid aside her work and crossed the room towards the two brothers. Vernon’s eyes met hers, and the expression she saw in them caused her to stop abruptly.
“Well, what is it? Do speak out, Vernon. We are not fools. We are ready to hear anything,” she said, in impatient, almost querulous tones.
Her brother-in-law cleared his throat, looking from the one to the other with a strange yearning in his eyes.
“I will speak; I will tell you,” he said huskily. “I have learnt to-day something which may cause you some alarm—for me,” he added, hastily, as husband and wife looked anxiously each at the other. “I don’t know whether you have ever troubled yourselves about the man who has come to live next door, or made any inquiries about him.”
“Well, who is he? What is his name?” asked Evelyn, while her husband remained silently watching his brother.
“He is Ned Mitchell, the brother of—”
He stopped. There was dead silence in the room. Not one of the three seemed to dare to meet the eyes of another. Evelyn was the first to speak. Her voice was low and husky, quite unlike her usual bright, imperious tones.
“You are sure?” she said.