fallen in pleasant places. His partner was gruff and authoritative, and not given to enthusiasm. There were times when only his good-breeding preserved the outward smoothness of affairs.
"But," he said to his daughter, "one does not expect good manners of a man like that. They are not his forte."
At the end of the two weeks there came one afternoon a message to Haworth in his room. Murdoch was with him when it arrived. He read it, and, crushing it in his hand, threw it into the fire.
"They're a nice lot," he said with a short laugh, "coming down on a fellow like that."
And then an oath broke from him.
"I've give up two or three things," he said, "and they're among 'em. It's th' last time, and——"
He took down his overcoat and began to put it on,
"Tell 'em," he said to Murdoch as he went out,—"tell 'em I'm gone home, and shan't be back till morning. Keep the rest to yourself."
He went out, shutting the door with a bang. Murdoch stood at the window and watched him drive away in his gig.
He was scarcely out of sight before a carriage appeared moving at a very moderate pace. It was a bright though cold day, and the top of the carriage was thrown back, giving the occupant the benefit of the sunshine. The occupant in question was Rachel Ffrench, who looked up and bestowed upon the figure at the window a slight gesture of recognition.
Murdoch turned away with an impatient movement after she had passed. "Pooh!" he said, angrily. "He's a fool."
