Don’tyoufear！’Honoryourfatherandmother，’wasn’tputonMoses’stablesofstonefornothing，Mr。Bashwood。Wheremayhebe，andwhatishedoingnow，sir？”
ThequestionwasineffectalmostthesameasthequestionwhichMidwinterhadputwhenthecircumstanceshadbeendescribedtohim。AsMr。Bashwoodhadanswereditontheformeroccasion，soinnearlythesamewordsheanswereditnow。
“MysonisinLondon，ma’am，forallIknowtothecontrary。Hewasemployed，whenIlastheardofhim，innoverycreditableway，atthePrivateInquiryOffice——“
Atthosewordshesuddenlycheckedhimself。Hisfaceflushed，hiseyesbrightened;hepushedawaythecupwhichhadjustbeenfilledforhim，androsefromhisseat。Thelandladystartedbackastep。Therewassomethinginherlodger’sfacethatshehadneverseeninitbefore。
“IhopeI’venotoffendedyou，sir。”saidthewoman，recoveringherself-possession，andlookingalittletooreadytotakeoffenseonherside，atamoment’snotice。