There was entire silence in the house.

The rich curtains, the soft carpet, the sumptuous furniture--every object on which the eye fell, seemed made to steal the shock from noise; and the rattle of the street--the jarring of carts--the distant shriek of the belated milkman--the long, wavering, melancholy cry of the chimney-sweep--came hushed and indistinct into the parlor where the sad-eyed woman sat silently waiting.
At length the door opened and Lawrence Newt came out.

He was going toward the front door, when Mrs.Simcoe rose and went into the hall, and said, "Stop a moment!" He turned, half smiled, but saw her face, and his own settled into its armor.
Mrs.Simcoe beckoned him toward the parlor; and as he went in she stepped to the library door and said, to avoid interruption, "Hope, Mr.Newt and I are talking together in the parlor." Hope bowed, and made no reply.

Mrs.Simcoe entered the other room and closed the door.
"Mr.Newt," she said, in a low voice, "you can not wonder that I am anxious." He looked at her, and did not answer.
"I know, perhaps, more than you know," said she; "not, I am sure, more than you suspect." Lawrence Newt was a little troubled, but it was only evident in the quiet closing and unclosing of his hand.
They stood for a few moments without speaking.

Then she opened the miniature, and when she saw that he observed it she said, very slowly, "Is it quite fair, Mr.Newt ?" "Mrs.Simcoe," he replied, inquiringly.
His firm, low voice reassured her.
"Why do you come here so often ?" asked she.
"To help Miss Hope." "Is it necessary that you should come ?" "She wishes it." "Why ?" He paused a moment.