On Monday evening after dinner Mr. Everard and his son sat for a while in silence.  They had not met since morning; and in the presence of the servants conversation had been scrupulously polite.  Now, though they were both waiting to talk, neither liked to begin.  The older man was outwardly placid, when Leonard, a little flushed and a little nervous of voice, began:  
‘Have you had any more bills?’  He had expected none, and thus hoped to begin by scoring against his father.  It was something of a set-down when the latter, taking some papers from his breast-pocket, handed them to him, saying:
 
‘Only these!’  Leonard took them in silence and looked at them.  All were requests for payment of debts due by his son.
 
In each case the full bill was enclosed.  He was silent a while; but his father spoke:
 
‘It would almost seem as if all these people had made up their minds that you were of no further use to them.’  Then without pausing he said, but in a sharper voice:
 
‘Have you paid the jewellers?  This is Monday!’  Without speaking Leonard took leisurely from his pocket folded paper.  This he opened, and, after deliberately smoothing out the folds, handed it to his father.  Doubtless something in his manner had already convinced the latter that the debt was paid.  He took the paper in as leisurely a way as it had been given, adjusted his spectacles, and read it.  Seeing that his son had scored this time, he covered his chagrin with an appearance of paternal satisfaction.
 
‘Good!’  For many reasons he was glad the debt was paid He was himself too poor a man to allow the constant drain his son’s debts, and too careful of his position to be willing have such exposure as would come with a County Court action against his son.  All the same, his exasperation continued.  Neither was his quiver yet empty.  He shot his next arrow:
 
‘I am glad you paid off those usurers!’  Leonard did not like the definite way he spoke.  Still in silence, he took from his pocket a second paper, which he handed over unfolded.  Mr. Everard read it, and returned it politely, with again one word:
 
‘Good!’  For a few minutes there was silence.  The father spoke again:
 
‘Those other debts, have you paid them?’  With a calm deliberation so full of tacit rudeness that it made his father flush Leonard answered:
 
‘Not yet, sir!  But I shall think of them presently.  I don’t care to be bustled by them; and I don’t mean to!’  It was apparent that though he spoke verbally of his creditors, his meaning was with regard to others also.
 
‘When will they be paid?’  As his son hesitated, he went on:
 
‘I am alluding to those who have written to me.  I take it that as my estate is not entailed, and as you have no income except from me, the credit which has been extended to you has been rather on my account than your own.  Therefore, as the matter touches my own name, I am entitled to know something of what is going on.’  His manner as well as his words was so threatening that Leonard was a little afraid.  He might imperil his inheritance.  He answered quickly:
 
‘Of course, sir, you shall know everything.  After all, you know, my affairs are your affairs!’
 
‘I know nothing of the sort.  I may of course be annoyed by your affairs, even dishonoured, in a way, by them.  But I accept no responsibility whatever.  As you have made your bed, so must you lie on it!’
 
‘It’s all right, sir, I assure you.  All my debts, both those you know of and some you don’t, I shall settle very shortly.’
 
‘How soon?’  The question was sternly put.
 
‘In a few days.  I dare say a week at furthest will see everything straightened out.’
 
The elder man stood, saying gravely as he went to the door:
 
‘You will do well to tell me when the last of them is paid.  There is something which I shall then want to tell you!’  Without waiting for reply he went to his study.
 
Leonard went to his room and made a systematic, though unavailing, search for Stephen’s letter; thinking that by some chance he might have recovered it from Harold and had overlooked it.
 
The next few days he passed in considerable suspense.  He did not dare go near Normanstand until he was summoned, as he knew he would be when he was required.
 
* * * * *
 
When Miss Rowly returned from her visit to London she told Stephen that she had paid the bill at the jeweller’s, and had taken the precaution of getting a receipt, together with a duplicate for Mr. Everard.  The original was by her own request made out as received from Miss Laetitia Rowly in settlement of the account of Leonard Everard, Esq.; the duplicate merely was ‘recd. in settlement of the account of—,’ etc.  Stephen’s brows bent hit thought as she said:
 
‘Why did you have it done that way, Auntie dear?’  The other answered quietly:
 
‘I had a reason, my dear; good reason!  Perhaps I shall tell you all about it some day; in the meantime I want you not to ask me anything about it.  I have a reason for that too.  Stephen, won’t you trust me in this, blindfold?’  There was something so sweet and loving in the way she made the request that Stephen was filled with emotion.  She put her arms round her aunt’s neck and hugged her tight.  Then laying her head on her bosom she said with a sigh:
 
‘Oh, my dear, you can’t know how I trust you; or how much your trust is to me.  You never can know!’
 
The next day the two women held a long consultation over the schedule of Leonard’s debts.  Neither said a word of disfavour, or even commented on the magnitude.  The only remark touching on the subject was made by Miss Rowly:
 
‘We must ask for proper discounts.  Oh, the villainy of those tradesmen!  I do believe they charge double in the hope of getting half.  As to jewellers . . . !’  Then she announced her intention of going up to town again on Thursday, at which visit she would arrange for the payment of the various debts.  Stephen tried to remonstrate, but she was obdurate.  She held Stephen’s hand in hers and stroked it lovingly as she kept on repeating:
 
‘Leave it all to me, dear!  Leave it all to me!  Everything shall be paid as you wish; but leave it to me!’
 
Stephen acquiesced.  This gentle yielding was new in her; it touched the elder lady to the quick, even whilst it pained her.  Well she knew that some trouble must have gone to the smoothing of that imperious nature.
 
Stephen’s inner life in these last few days was so bitterly sad that she kept it apart from all the routine of social existence.  Into it never came now, except as the exciting cause of all the evil, a thought of Leonard.  The saddening memory was of Harold.  And of him the sadness was increased and multiplied by a haunting fear.  Since he had walked out of the grove she had not seen him nor heard from him.  This was in itself strange; for in all her life, when she was at home and he too, never a day passed without her seeing him.  She had heard her aunt say that word had come of his having made a sudden journey to London, from which he had not yet returned.  She was afraid to make inquiries.  Partly lest she might hear bad news—this was her secret fear; partly lest she might bring some attention to herself in c............