'What reason have you heard assigned, Mr. Slinkton?' I asked,
point-blank.

'Most likely a false one. You know what Rumour is, Mr. Sampson. I
never repeat what I hear; it is the only way of paring the nails
and shaving the head of Rumour. But when YOU ask me what reason I
have heard assigned for Mr. Meltham's passing away from among men,
it is another thing. I am not gratifying idle gossip then. I was
told, Mr. Sampson, that Mr. Meltham had relinquished all his
avocations and all his prospects, because he was, in fact, broken-
hearted. A disappointed attachment I heard, - though it hardly
seems probable, in the case of a man so distinguished and so
attractive.'

'Attractions and distinctions are no armour against death,' said I.

'O, she died? Pray pardon me. I did not hear that. That, indeed,
makes it very, very sad. Poor Mr. Meltham! She died? Ah, dear
me! Lamentable, lamentable!'

I still thought his pity was not quite genuine, and I still
suspected an unaccountable sneer under all this, until he said, as
we were parted, like the other knots of talkers, by the
announcement of dinner:

'Mr. Sampson, you are surprised to see me so moved on behalf of a
man whom I have never known. I am not so disinterested as you may
suppose. I have suffered, and recently too, from death myself. I
have lost one of two charming nieces, who were my constant
companions. She died young - barely three-and-twenty; and even her