"No, nothink at all."
Varbarriere had here been trying to establish another conjecture.
There was a pause. Varbarriere, ruminating darkly, looked on Donica Gwynn. He then closed his pocket-book, in which he had inscribed a few notes, and said—
"Thank you, Mrs. Gwynn. Should I want anything more I'll call again; and you had better not mention the subject of my visit. Let me see the pictures—that will be the excuse—and do you keep your secret, and I'll keep mine."
"No, I thank you, sir," said Donica, drily, almost fiercely, drawing back from his proffered douceur.
"Tut, tut—pray do."
"No, I thank you."
So he looked at the pictures in the different rooms, and at some old china and snuff-boxes, to give a colour to his visit; and with polite speeches and dark smiles, and a general courtesy that was unctuous, he took his leave of Donica Gwynn, whom he left standing in the hall with a flushed face and a sore heart.