No, the truth could not be told, but how did one account for three hundred pounds with never a bill to show? There was no need for Lord Pevensey’s daughter to cudgel her brains for more than a very few moments over that problem: few knew better than an Irvine how money could vanish without leaving a trace behind. “It wasn’t Dysart!” she said quickly. “I am afraid it was me!” She saw his face change, an arrested look in his eyes, a hardening of the lines about his mouth, and she felt suddenly frightened. “Pray don’t be angry!” she begged rather breathlessly. “I promise I will never do so any more!”

“Are you telling me you lost it at play?”

She hung her head again. After a pause he said: “I suppose I should have known that it would be in your blood too.”

“No, no, indeed it isn’t!” she cried, with passionate sincerity. “Only it seemed stupid and prudish not to play, when everyone else did so, and then I lost, and I thought that perhaps the luck would change, but it didn’t, and—”

“You need say no more!” he interrupted. “There was never yet a gamester who didn’t think the luck must change!” He looked frowningly at her, and added in a level tone: “I should be very reluctant, Nell, to take such steps as must put it wholly out of your power to play anything but silver-loo, or a pool at commerce, but I give you fair warning I will not permit my wife to become one of faro’s daughters.”

“Well, I am not perfectly sure what that is,” she said naively, “but indeed I won’t do it again, so pray don’t do anything horrid!”

“Very well,” he replied. He glanced down at the bills on his desk. “Ill settle these, and any others that you may have. Will you bring them to me, please?”

“Now?” she faltered, uneasily aware of a drawer stuffed with bills.

“Yes, now.” He added, with a smile: “You will be much more comfortable, you know, when you have made a clean breast of the whole.”

She agreed to this, but when she presently rendered up a collection of crumpled bills she did not feel at all comfortable. There could be no denying that she had been woefully extravagant. The allowance Cardross made her had seemed so enormous to a girl who had never had anything to spend beyond the small sum bestowed on her with the utmost reluctance by her papa for pin-money that she had bought things quite recklessly, feeling her resources to be limitless. But now, as she watched my lord glance through the appalling sheaf, she thought she must have been mad to have spent so much and so heedlessly.

For some moments he read with an unmoved countenance, but presently his brows knit, and he said: “A two-colour gold snuffbox with grisaille paintings?”

“For Dysart!” she explained apprehensively.

“Oh!” He resumed his study of the incriminating bills. With a sinking heart, she saw him pick up a document headed, in elegant scroll-work, by the name of her favourite dressmaker. He said nothing, however, and she was able to breathe again. But an instant later he read aloud: “Singing-bird, with box embellished turquoise-blue enamelled panels—What the devil—?”

“It was a music-box,” she explained, her voice jumping. “For the children—my sisters!”

“Ah, I see!” he said, laying the bill aside.

Her spirits rose, only to sink again an instant later when the Earl exclaimed: “Good God!” Peeping in great trepidation to see what had provoked this startled ejaculation, she perceived that he was holding another scrolled sheet. “Forty guineas for one hat?” he said incredulously.

“I am afraid it was a little dear,” she owned. “It—it has three very fine ostrich plumes, you see. You—you said you liked it!” she added desperately.

“Your taste is always impeccable, my love. Did I like the other eight hats you have purchased, or haven’t I seen them yet?”

Horrified, she stammered: “N-not eight, Giles, surely?”

He laughed. “Eight! Oh, don’t look so dismayed! I daresay they were all quite necessary. To be sure, forty guineas seems a trifle extortionate, but it is certainly a charming confection, and becomes you delightfully.” She smiled gratefully at him, and he took her chin in his hand, and pinched it. “Yes, very well, ma’am, but that is only the sop that goes before the scold! You’ve been drawing the bustle disgracefully, my dear. You seem not to have the smallest notion of management, and I should doubt whether you have ever kept an account in your life. Now, I am going to settle all these bills of yours and I am also going to place a further hundred pounds to your account. That should—indeed, it must!—keep you in reasonably comfortable circumstances until the quarter.”

She exclaimed: “Oh, thank you! How very kind you are! I will take the greatest care, I promise!”

“I trust you won’t find it necessary to exercise any very stringent economies,” he said, with a touch of irony. “But if you have any more bills laid by, give them to me now! I won’t scold, but I warn you, Nell, it won’t do to keep your money safely in Childe’s while you run up debts all over town! There are to be no bills outstanding at the quarter, so if you are concealing any from me now, make a clean breast of them! If I found that you had deceived me, then, indeed, I should be angry with you, and do much more than scold!”

“What—what would you do, if—if I did happen to owe any money at the quarter?” she asked, looking frightened.

“Give you only enough money for such trifling expenses as must occur from day to day, and arrange that all your bills are sent to me for payment,” he replied.

“Oh, no!” she cried, flushing.

“I assure you I should dislike it as much as you, and feel as much humiliated. But I have seen something of what such reckless spending as you appear to delight in may lead to, and I am determined it shall not happen in my household. Now, think, Nell! Have you given me all your bills?”

The consciousness of having already deceived him, as much as his threat, coupled as it was by a certain look of inflexibility in his face, almost overpowered her. In suppressed agitation, which rendered calm reflection impossible, she said hurriedly: “Yes—oh, yes!”

“Very well. We shan’t speak of this again, then.”

The flurry of her heart subsided; she said in a subdued voice: “Thank you! Indeed, I am very much obliged to you! I did not mean to be such an extravagant wife.”

“Nor I such a tyrannical husband. We could deal better than this, Nell.”

“No, no! I mean, I never thought you so! You are most kind—I beg your pardon for being so troublesome: pray forgive me!”

“Nell!”

His hand was outstretched to her, but she did not take it, only smiling nervously, and saying again: “Thank you! You are very good! Oh, how late it is! M-may I go now?”

His hand fell; he said in quite a different voice: “I am not a schoolmaster! Certainly go, if that is your wish!”

She murmured something, in disjointed phrases, about his sister, and Almack’s and fled out of the room. That gesture, coming as it did at the end of a scene during which he had indeed seemed to be more schoolmaster than husband, seemed to her rather the expression of kindness than of any warmer emotion, and, with her nerves already overset, she had not been able to respond to it as, in general, she had forced herself to respond to any advance made by him. That her retreat might offend him she knew; that it could wound him she had no suspicion, having, from the start of her married life, seen in his love-making only a chivalrous determination not to betray to her that although he had bestowed his name on her his heart belonged to another.

As for Cardross, he was left with some rather bitter reflections to bear him company, and the growing suspicion that all the well-wishers who had begged him not to marry Nell had been right after all: no good could come of an alliance with an Irvine. One of his cousins, that Pink of the Ton, Mr. Felix Hethersett, had put the matter to him with brutal frankness. “Nothing to say against the girl, dear old boy, but I don’t like the stable,” had said Mr. Hethersett.

Well, he had not liked the stable either. Nothing had been further from his intention than marriage with an Irvine; and nothing had seemed more improbable than a love-match. It was his duty to marry, but for some years he had enjoyed an agreeable connection with a fashionable lady of easy morals and skilful discretion, and that he should succumb to a pair of blue eyes and a mischievous dimple had been an event quite outside his calculations. But so it had been. He had first seen his Nell in a ballroom, and he had instantly been struck, not so much by her undeniable beauty as by the sweetness in her face, and the innocence of her enquiring gaze. Before he well knew what had happened, his heart was lost, and every prudent consideration thrown to the winds. She sprang from a line of expensive profligates, but he had been ready to swear, looking into her eyes, that she had miraculously escaped the Irvine taint.

She had been less than eighteen when he had married her, fourteen years younger than he, and when he found himself with a shy, elusive bride he handled her very gently, believing that tenderness and forbearance would win for him the loving, vital creature he was so sure lived behind the nervous child.

He had caught glimpses of that creature—or so he thought—but he had never won her; and the fear that he had deceived himself was beginning to grow on him. She was dutiful, even submissive; sometimes an entrancing companion, always a well-mannered one; but although she never repulsed his advances she never courted them, or gave any sign that she could not be perfectly happy out of his company. Once installed in Grosvenor Square she entered with apparent zest into every fashionable amusement, took her young sister-in-law into society, rapidly acquired a court of her own, and was by no means the sort of wife who constantly demanded her husband’s escort. She was extravagant; he had today discovered that, like the rest of her family, she was a gamester; and what affection she had she appeared to lavish on her little sisters, and on her scapegrace of a brother. There had been plenty of people to tell Cardross that Nell had accepted him for the sake of his wealth. He had not believed them, but he was beginning to wonder. In her precipitate retreat from his book-room he saw only a spoilt child’s desire to escape from a disagreeable schoolmaster, and never dreamed that she had fled because her feelings threatened to overcome her.