Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. Michelle would arrive daily with a two to ten minute brief on her own dating status, her nightly dreams, grades, new family developments. But though he visited Sir Rowland Trenchard's seat, Ashton Hall, he could gain no tidings of him, or of his uncle, Sir Rowland, who, it seems, has left the country. “Heaven knows!” said Mr.
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