A good night's sleep had
erased it from his memory. Edith was glad of this, and she did not
mention the subject. After he had gone to the City, his daughter prepared
to follow him. She did not take her carriage, but hailed a hansom, and
gave the driver the number of Wentworth's offices. That young man was
evidently somewhat surprised to see her. He had been trying to write to
Kenyon an account of his interview with old Mr. Longworth; but after he
had finished, he thought John Kenyon would not approve of his zeal, so
had just torn the letter up.
'Take this chair,' he said, wheeling an armchair into position. 'It is
the only comfortable one we have in the room.'
'Comfort does not matter,' said Miss Longworth. 'I came to see you about
the mica-mine. What has my cousin done?'
'How do you know he has done anything?'
'That does not matter. I know. Tell me as quickly as you can what he
has done.'
'It is not a very pleasant story to tell,' he said, 'to a young lady
about one of her relatives.'
'Never mind that. Tell me.'
'Very well, he has done this: He has pretended he was our friend, and
professed to aid us in forming this company. He has delayed us by every
means in his power until the option has nearly expired. Then he has gone
to Canada and secured for himself, and a man named Melville, the option
of the mine when John Kenyon's time is up--that is to say, at twelve
o'clock to-morrow, when Kenyon's option expires, your cousin will pay the
money and own the mine; after which, of course, Kenyon and myself will be
out of it.
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