It was evening, and the office was well lighted. The schoolmaster, who had never remitted his watch on Lightwood’s door, now moved by another door to a corner without, where there was more shadow than light; and said, plucking at his gloves:

“One of your ladies, sir, mentioned within my hearing a name that I am acquainted with; I may say, well acquainted with. The name of the sister of an old pupil of mine. He was my pupil for a long time, and has got on and gone upward rapidly. The name of Hexam. The name of Lizzie Hexam.” He seemed to be a shy man, struggling against nervousness, and spoke in a very constrained way. The break he set between his last two sentences was quite embarrassing to his hearer.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Milvey. “We are going down to see her.”

“I gathered as much, sir. I hope there is nothing amiss with the sister of my old pupil? I hope no bereavement has befallen her. I hope she is in no affliction? Has lost no⁠—relation?”