"I beg your pardon, my lady. As I was passing here, I brought up these papers for Mr. Chandos. The new tenant opposite says there's something amiss with the roof of the coach-house, and I'm going to call and look at it."
Lady Chandos glanced casually at the letter she held; and then a thought seemed to strike her.
"What is the name of the new tenant, Mr. Dexter?"
"Barley, my lady. Mr. Edwin Barley."
There was a startled pause. Lady Chandos suddenly put her hand to her heart, as if some pang had taken it.
"Barley!" she repeated. "Edwin Barley! Do you know whether he comes from Hallam?"
"Hallam?—Hallam?" debated Mr. Dexter with himself, in consideration. "Yes, that is the place he comes from. I remember now. 'Edwin Barley, Esquire, of the Oaks, Hallam.' That's the address in the deed of agreement. Good-day, my lady."
She did not attempt to detain him. With the look of awful consternation on her livid face, she turned to come back. I slipped into the dining-room, and sat down in a shady nook by the piano, hoping not to have been seen. The cloth was laid, but no servants were in the room. Only Mr. Chandos, and he stood at a side-table looking into his desk, his back to the room.
"Harry! Harry!"
Turning at the tones of unmistakeable terror, Mr. Chandos came swiftly to his mother, and took her hand.