Mr. Tombe had gained nothing for the cause by his crafty silence. George Vavasor felt perfectly certain, as he walked out from the little street which runs at the back of Doctors' Commons, that the money which he had been using had come, in some shape, through the hands of John Grey. He did not care much to calculate whether the payments had been made from the personal funds of his rival, or whether that rival had been employed to dispense Alice's fortune. Under either view of the case his position was sufficiently bitter. The truth never for a moment occurred to him. He never dreamed that there might be a conspiracy in the matter, of which Alice was as ignorant as he himself had been. He never reflected that his uncle John, together with John, the lover, whom he so hated, might be the conspirators. To him it seemed to be certain that Alice and Mr. Grey were in league;--and if they were in league, what must he think of Alice, and of her engagement with himself!

Mr. Tombe had gained nothing by his crafty silence. George Vavasor felt perfectly certain, as he walked out, that the money had come through the hands of John Grey. He did not care to speculate whether the payments had been made from his rival's personal funds, or whether his rival had been dispensing Alice's fortune. In either case, his position was bitter enough.
The truth never for a moment occurred to him. He never dreamed that there might be a conspiracy in the matter, of which Alice was as ignorant as he himself. It seemed certain to him that Alice and Mr. Grey were in league; and if they were in league, what must he think of Alice, and of her engagement with himself!
