;
every house had its gazers. Excepting the case of the Walthams, he had not as
yet sought to make personal acquaintances, appearing rather to avoid
opportunities. On the whole it seemed likely that he would be popular. The
little group of mothers with marriageable daughters waited eagerly for the day
when, by establishing himself at the Manor, he would throw off the present
semi-incognito, and become the recognised head of Wanley society. He would
discover the necessity of having a lady to share his honours and preside at his
table. Persistent inquiry seemed to have settled the fact that he was not
married already. To be sure, there were awesome rumours that Socialists
repudiated laws divine and human in matrimonial affairs, but the more sanguine
were inclined to regard this as calumny, their charity finding a support in
their personal ambitions. The interest formerly attaching to the Eldons had
altogether vanished. Mrs. Eldon and her son were now mere obstacles to be got
rid of as quickly as possible. It was the general opinion that Hubert Eldon's
illness was purposely protracted, to suit his mother's convenience. Until
Mutimer's arrival there had been much talk about Hubert; whether owing to Dr.
Mann's indiscretion or through the servants at the Manor, it had become known
that the young man was suffering from a bullet-wound, and the story circulated
by Mrs. Mewling led gossips to suppose that he had been murderously assailed in
that land of notorious profligacy known to Wanley as abroad. That, however, was
now become an old story. Wanley was anxious for the Eldons to go their way, and
leave the stage clear.
    Everyone of course was aware that Mutimer spent his Sundays in London (a
circumstance, it was admitted, not altogether reassuring to the ladies with
marriageable daughters), and his unwonted appearance in the village on the
evening of the present Saturday excited universal comment. Would he appear at
church next morning? There was a general directing of eyes to the Manor pew.
This pew had not been occupied since the fateful Sunday when, at the conclusion
of the morning service, old Mr. Mutimer was discovered to have breathed his
last. It was a notable object in the dim little church, having a wooden canopy
supported on four slim oak pillars with vermicular moulding. From pillar to
pillar hung dark curtains, so that when these were drawn the interior of the pew
was entirely protected from observation. Even on the brightest days its
occupants were veiled in gloom. To-day the curtains remained drawn as usual, and
Richard Mutimer disappointed the congregation. Wanley had obtained