"You don't understand me," he said. "It's _because_ I loved her that I
feel it a duty--a sacred duty--to do justice to her son. If he is a
living man, I must find him: for my own sake, as well as for his. I
shall break down under this dreadful trial, unless I employ
myself--actively, instantly employ myself--in doing what my conscience
tells me ought to be done. I must speak to my lawyer; I must set my
lawyer at work before I sleep to-night." He approached a tube in the
wall of the room, and called down through it to the office below. "Leave
me for a little, Mrs. Goldstraw," he resumed; "I shall be more composed,
I shall be better able to speak to you later in the day. We shall get on
well--I hope we shall get on well together--in spite of what has
happened. It isn't your fault; I know it isn't your fault. There!
there! shake hands; and--and do the best you can in the house--I can't
talk about it now."

The door opened as Mrs. Goldstraw advanced towards it; and Mr. Jarvis
appeared.

"Send for Mr. Bintrey," said the wine-merchant. "Say I want to see him
directly."

The clerk unconsciously suspended the execution of the order, by
announcing "Mr. Vendale," and showing in the new partner in the firm of
Wilding and Co.

"Pray excuse me for one moment, George Vendale," said Wilding. "I have a
word to say to Jarvis. Send for Mr. Bintrey," he repeated--"send at
once."

Mr. Jarvis laid a letter on the table before he left the room.