 that money
into his own pocket? It really seemed as if Kirkwood - though he might be only
artful - had relinquished his claim on the girl, at all events for the present;
possibly he was an honest man, which would explain his behaviour. Michael
Snowdon could not live much longer; Jane would be the ward of the Percivals, and
certainly would be aided to a position more correspondent with her wealth. Why
should it then be impossible for him to become Jane's husband? Joseph, beyond a
doubt, could be brought to favour that arrangement, by means of a private
understanding more advantageous to him than anything he could reasonably hope
from the girl's merely remaining unmarried. This change in his relations to the
Percivals would so far improve his social claims that many of the difficulties
hitherto besieging such a scheme as this might easily be set aside. Come, come;
the atmosphere was clearing. Joseph himself, now established in a decent
business, would become less a fellow-intriguer than an ordinary friend bound to
him, in the way of the world, by mutual interests. Things must be put in order;
by some device the need of secrecy in his intercourse with Joseph must come to
an end. In fact, there remained but two hazardous points. Could the connection
between Jane and Kirkwood be brought definitely to an end. And was anything to
be feared from poor C.V.?
    Waterloo Station is a convenient rendezvous; its irregular form provides
many corners of retirement, out-of-the-way recesses where talk can be carried on
in something like privacy. To one of these secluded spots Scawthorne drew aside
with the veiled woman who met him at the entrance from Waterloo Road. So closely
was her face shrouded, that he had at first a difficulty in catching the words
she addressed to him. The noise of an engine getting up steam, the rattle of
cabs and porters' barrows, the tread and voices of a multitude of people made
fitting accompaniment to a dialogue which in every word presupposed the
corruptions and miseries of a centre of modern life.
    »Why did you send that letter to my father?« was Clara's first question.
    »Letter? What letter?«
    »Wasn't it you who let him know about me?«
    »Certainly not. How should I have known his address? When I saw the
newspapers, I went down to Bolton and made inquiries. When I heard your father
had been, I concluded you had yourself sent for him. Otherwise, I should, of
course, have tried to he
