"Was she a Verney?"
"No; she was distantly connected, but her name was Melville," said he.
"Connected. That accounts for it, perhaps."
"Very likely."
"And your father—dead?" she said, sadly.
"Yes; twenty years ago."
"I know, sir; I remember. They are all locked up there, sir, and shan't come out till old Lady Verney dies. But he was not related to the Verneys?"
"No, they were friends. He managed two of the estates after he left the army, and very well, I'm told."
"Sedley—Thomas Sedley—I remember the name. I did not know the name of Sedley—except on one occasion—I was sent for, but it came to nothing. I lived so much in the dark about things," and she sighed.
"I forgot, Mrs. Mervyn, how late it is growing, and how much too long I have stayed here admiring your pretty room, and I fear interrupting you," said Tom, suddenly remembering his dinner, and standing up—"If you kindly give me the receipt, I'll leave it on my way back."