'Then give him the chance of being ashamed of himself, and take no
further steps in the meantime.'

Edith shortly afterwards went to her own room; there, clasping her hands
behind her, she walked up and down thinking, with a very troubled heart,
of what she had heard. Her view of the occurrence was very different from
that taken by her father. She felt certain something dishonourable had
been done by her cousin. For a long time she had mistrusted his supposed
friendship for the two young men, and now she pictured to herself John
Kenyon in the wilds of Canada, helpless and despondent because of the
great wrong that had been done him. It was far into the night when she
retired, and it was early next morning when she arose. Her father was
bright and cheerful at breakfast, and had evidently forgotten all about
the unpleasant incident of the day before. A good night's sleep had
erased it from his memory. Edith was glad of this, and she did not
mention the subject. After he had gone to the City, his daughter prepared
to follow him. She did not take her carriage, but hailed a hansom, and
gave the driver the number of Wentworth's offices. That young man was
evidently somewhat surprised to see her. He had been trying to write to
Kenyon an account of his interview with old Mr. Longworth; but after he
had finished, he thought John Kenyon would not approve of his zeal, so
had just torn the letter up.

'Take this chair,' he said, wheeling an armchair into position. 'It is
the only comfortable one we have in the room.'

'Comfort does not matter,' said Miss Longworth. 'I came to see you about
the mica-mine. What has my cousin done?'