The two men met with as serene an air as if they had never grappled each other savagely in the twilight.
"I considered it due to Mrs. Granger that I should call upon you," George
Fairfax began, "in order to explain her part in the affair of last night."
"Go on, sir. The old story, of course—Mrs. Granger is spotless; it is only appearances that are against her."
"So far as she is concerned, our meeting yesterday afternoon was an accident. She came there to see another person."
"Indeed! Mr. Austin the painter, I suppose?—a man who painted her portrait, and who had no farther acquaintance with her than that. A very convenient person, it seems, since she was in the habit of going to his rooms nearly every afternoon; and I suppose the same kind of accident as that of yesterday generally brought you there at the same time."
"Mrs. Granger went to see her brother."
"Her brother?"
"Yes, Austin Lovel; otherwise Mr. Austin the painter. I have been pledged to him to keep his identity a secret; but I feel myself at liberty to break my promise now—in his sister's justification."
"You mean, that the man who came to this house as a stranger is my wife's brother?"
"I do."