Their eyes met, and Denzil's expression became graver.
"You will take up your abode here ?" Glazzard asked.
"Shortly," was the reply, given with more emphasis than seemed necessary, and accompanied with an earnest look.
Again there was silence, and before the conversation could be renewed there came a summons to supper.
A vivacious political dialogue between Mr.Liversedge and his relative allowed Glazzard to keep silence, save when he exchanged a few words with his hostess or Miss Pope.

He had a look of extreme weariness; his eyes were heavy and without expression, the lines of face slack, sullen; he seemed to maintain with difficulty his upright position at the table, and his eating was only pretence.

At the close of the meal he bent towards Mrs.Liversedge, declared that he was suffering from an intolerable headache, and begged her to permit his immediate departure.
Denzil went with him out into the road.
"I could see you were not well," he said, kindly.

"I want to have a long and very serious talk with you; it must wait till after to-morrow.
You know, of course, what I have on my mind.

Come and hear my balderdash if you are all right again." All the next day Denzil was in extravagant spirits.