What was she to do, then, when she did hear next from Cranshawe? She could not pay him and she would not meet him. The only other alternative seemed to be to make a clean breast of the whole thing to Marius. She found it hard to understand now why she had not just gone to him at the start, or at least as soon as she began to have doubts about Oliver's integrity. It would have been so easy then, and surely she could have thought of some way of keeping Giles' name out of it. However, she had not gone to her husband, and now it was surely impossible to do so. At best, Marius would consider her foolish and stubborn, and he would be right. But he could never respect or love her. At worst, he would refuse to believe that she had not been more involved with Oliver than she had been. He was already suspicious. How could she ever convince him that she had never considered his cousin as more than a casual friend? No, this was a predicament that she would have to get herself out of, though there did not seem to be any way.

But why did she care what Marius thought of her? He did not care about her. He had married her for some reason that she could not comprehend. But obviously all his interest was in that overblown dozy, Mrs. Broughton. Even last night they had not been able to keep their eyes off each other. Henry supposed that he spent much of his days and the evenings when he was not with her at the home of his mistress. Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms as she imagined him doing with the delectable Suzanne what he had done with her two nights before.

Henry could not escape the truth. She loved Marius quite hopelessly. Finally, after believing that no man would ever be worthy of her entire trust and respect, she seemed to have found such a man. And, in addition, he was a man who could make her pulses race and her knees and stomach feel like jelly. Even now Henry yearned to run to him, to curl into his arms and beg him to take her burdens on his own broad and capable shoulders. And one part of her mind was convinced that he would not turn her away, that she could trust him. But how could she believe that when he had turned her away the morning before at a time when she had been glowing with love and vulnerability, and when he kept a mistress with whom he had been involved long before he had met her? Oh, it was all very confusing.

On impulse, Henry leapt to her feet and rang for Betty. She was going to go downstairs for luncheon and then she was going to order her phaeton and grays brought around so that she could go visiting and later drive in the park. She was Henry Devron, and nobody-not Marius, not Oliver-was going to keep her cowering in her bedroom!

****

Giles Tallant was sitting in the reading room at White's when his brother-in-law strolled in. Although he held a paper in his hands and had his eyes directed at it, it would have been obvious to anyone who cared to observe that he was not, in fact, reading. Truth to tell, his mind was still reeling from what his brother had told him just a few hours before.

Philip had gone himself to Peter's house to consult with Giles. Although his oldest brother was from home already, he was unfortunate enough to run into Marian, who was emerging from the breakfast room. She had quizzed him sharply on the strangeness of his being out alone at a time when any normal and properly reared youngster would be in the schoolroom at his books. Philip had mumbled some excuse about Miss Manford's having postponed lessons until the afternoon, but was very relieved when the footman had returned to say that Mr. Giles would receive his brother in his bed chamber.

Giles had been still in bed, nightcap pulled rakishly over one eyebrow. A cup of chocolate was cooling on the night table at his side. He woke up in a hurry, though, when he heard Philip's story. At the first part he bristled with indignation.

"She borrowed money from Cranshawe?" he said. "The fellow's nothing but a rake. Don't trust him."

"But why would she, Giles?" asked Philip. "What would Henry want money for? His Grace buys her all the clothes and finery she wants, and she don't gamble. She lectures Pen and me regularly on the sins of playing cards."

"It was all my fault," Giles said gloomily. "I'm the one who gambled myself into debt. Henry wormed it out of me. Said she had enough money to pay it off for me. The little widgeon. And I believed her." He snatched the nightcap off his auburn curls and slammed it down on the bed.

"Oh, I say," Philip commented, "you're lucky Papa is not alive, Giles. You would have got a whipping for sure."

"And would have deserved it, too," Giles admitted. "And you say Cranshawe has been threatening her? I'll call him out over this. Hand me my clothes, Phil."

"You haven't heard the worst of it yet," Philip warned.

"Eh?"

"She went to a moneylender yesterday," Philip said. "I followed her."

"She what?" Giles blanched. "Why would the little sapskull do a thing like that?"

"Manny and Pen and I guess that things got too hot for her with the teeth, and she went for the money to pay him back."

Giles groaned and clutched his head. "Oh, Henry, Henry!" was all he could say for a while.

"What are we going to do, Giles?" Philip asked. "Pen and I thought you might have some ideas."

Giles groaned again. "Let me think about it, Phil," he said. "I'll come up with something." Philip got up to leave. "But, Phil," he added, catching his brother by the sleeve, "keep on doing what you have been doing. Keep an eye on Henry, will you?"

Sitting in his chair now at White's, Giles was no nearer finding a solution than he had been while reclining in his bed at home. His first impulse had been to go to Eversleigh should have done at the start. He could have asked hi brother-in-law for a loan. He did not think the duke would have refused. It would have been humiliating to have to go to him when Eversleigh had already taken on so man of the family burdens with his marriage to Henry. But he deserved the shame; he had behaved with terrible irresponsibility, getting himself sent down from university and then gambling away money that he did not possess.

But how could he go to Eversleigh now? It was Henry's secrets more than his, own that he would be revealing. And she must have been more than reluctant to turn to her husband if she had gone to a moneylender rather than appeal to him. Poor Henry! He could not betray her now-

There seemed to be only one other solution. Giles would have to go himself to a moneylender and borrow the money with which his sister could repay both her debt and the interest that would have already accumulated. But it was a mad idea! Not only did he have no prospect of ever being able to repay the debt, but by acting in such a way, he would belittle the sacrifice that Henry had made for his sake.

While he was still wrestling with this problem, Giles was interrupted.

"Ah, here you are, Giles," said the Duke of Eversleigh. "This is the last room in the club I have thought of looking in. Are you acquiring studious habits in your rustication, dear boy?"

"Y-you were looking oking for me, your Grace?" stammered Giles, lowering his paper and staring aghast into the face of his brother-in-law. This was the last person he wished to see just now.

"I was merely looking for a luncheon companion, Eversleigh explained. "It is tedious to eat alone, you know. Nothing to think about except the food."

"Oh, yes, much obliged to you," Giles lied, getting to his feet and wondering what Eversleigh was up to. He was a very popular figure in the club. He could attract any table companion he cared to choose.

Fifteen minutes later, the two men were cutting into large platters of veal and vegetables.

"So, dear boy," Eversleigh said, abandoning the small talk that had occupied them thus far, "what have you found to amuse you in town?"

"Oh," said Giles evasively, "this and that."

"Ah. Parties?"

"Yes, some."

"The races?"

"Not often, your Grace."

"The muslin company?"

"Er, not too often." Giles was feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

"Cards?"

There was a pause. "Not any longer," Giles said finally.

"Ah," said the duke. "Excellent veal, is it not?"

"Eversleigh, what is the purpose of this interrogation?" Giles asked, putting down his knife and fork with hands that shook slightly and looking defiantly at his companion.

"Interrogation, dear boy?" Eversleigh replied, his sleepy eyes widening for a moment. "But I suppose you are right. Tell me, Giles, has my wife been paying your debts?"

"I… She…" Giles had paled again.

"You need not be afraid to speak out," Eversleigh said gently. "I wish to protect Henry as much as I assume you do."

"She seems uncommon afraid of you, sir," Giles said doubtfully.

Eversleigh considered. "I think not," he said. "I believe Henry is afraid only of herself. It irks her to know that she is a woman and might at times need to depend on a man."

Giles laughed shakily. "You do know her rather well, your Grace," he said with respect.

Eversleigh regarded his brother-in-law steadily. "Of course," he said. I happen to love her, you see. Now, tell me what you know, dear boy. I suspect that she has got herself into quite a mess."

Giles judged it expedient to tell Eversleigh everything Philip had told him that morning.

"A moneylender," Eversleigh mused. "Do you happen to know which one?"

"I suspect the one that I planned to go to," Giles guessed. "I believe I mentioned his name to her. Phil would be able to take you to the place."