"That I will," cried d.i.c.k eagerly; "and I tell you now that I am glad that you have thrown dust in our eyes as you have. I always liked you, Huish, and you were about the only man from whom I never liked to borrow money."

"Why?" said Huish, smiling.

"Because I was afraid of losing a friend. Come up now, for Gertrude will be in a fidget to know what we have been saying.--Gertrude, my dear," he said as they re-entered the drawing-room, "it's all right."

An hour later d.i.c.k parted from the young couple at the little house they had taken in Westbourne Road, and cabbed back, to send her ladyship into a fainting fit by the announcement that his sister and her husband had been at his uncle's.

"For," said Lady Millet, "I can never forgive Gertrude; and as to that dreadful man Huish, in marrying him she has disgraced herself beyond the power to redeem her lot. Ah me! and these are the children I have nurtured in my bosom."

It was rather hard work for d.i.c.k Millet, with his own love affairs in a state of "check," with no probability of "mate," but he felt that he must act; and in his newly a.s.sumed character of head of the family he determined to go and try to smooth matters over at Chesham Place, and took a hansom to see Frank Morrison, who was now back at his own house, but alone, and who surlily pointed to a chair as he sat back pale and nervous of aspect, wrapped in a dressing-gown.

"Look here, Frank," said d.i.c.k, sitting down, and helping himself to a cigar, "we're brothers-in-law, and I'm not going to quarrel. I've come for the other thing."

"My cigars, seemingly," said the other.

"Yes; they're not bad. But look here, old fellow, light up; I want to talk to you."

"If you want to borrow twenty pounds, say so, and I'll draw you a cheque."

"Hang your cheque! I didn't come to borrow money. Light up."

Morrison s.n.a.t.c.hed up a cigar, bit off the end, and lit it, threw himself back in his chair, and began to smoke quickly.

"Go on," he said. "What is it?"

"Wait a minute or two," said d.i.c.k. "Smoke five minutes first."

Morrison muttered something unpleasant, but went on smoking, and at last d.i.c.k, who was sitting with his little legs dangling over the side of the chair, began.

"Fact is," he said, "I'm going to speak out. I shan't quarrel, and I'm such a little chap that you can't hit me."

"No; but I could throw you downstairs," said Morrison, who was half amused, half annoyed by his visitor's coming, though in his heart of hearts he longed to hear news of Renee.

"I saw my uncle yesterday."

"Indeed! Poor old lunatic! What had he got to say?"

"Ah, there you are wrong!" said d.i.c.k sharply. "He said something which you will own proved that he was no lunatic."

"What was it?" said Morrison coldly.

"That you were a confounded scoundrel."

Frank Morrison jumped up in his chair, scowling angrily; but he threw himself back again with a contemptuous "Pish!"

"Proves it, don't it?"

"Look here," cried Morrison angrily, "I've had about enough of your family, so please finish your cigar and go."

"Shan't. There, it's no use to twist about. I've come on purpose to sit upon you."

"Look here," cried Morrison sternly, "has your sister sent you?"

"No. I've come of my own free will, as I tell you, to show you what a fool you are, and to try and bring you to your senses."

"You are very ready at calling people fools," said Morrison, biting his nails.

"Well, don't you deserve to be called one for acting as you have acted?

What did you do? Went mad after a woman who didn't care a _sou_ for you; neglected a dear, good girl who did care for you, and exposed her to the persecutions of a scoundrel who has no more principle than that."

He snapped his fingers, and, instead of firing up with rage, Morrison turned his face away and smoked furiously.

"Now, isn't that all true, Frank? Here, give me a light."

Morrison lit a spill, pa.s.sed it to his brother-in-law, and sank back in his chair.

"I say," continued d.i.c.k, as he lit his cigar again, "isn't it (_puff_) quite (_puff_) true?"

"I suppose so," said the other listlessly. "She never cared for me, though, d.i.c.k. That scoundrel and she were old flames."

"First, a lie; second, true," said d.i.c.k quietly. "Renee is as good as gold; and when she found she was to be your wife, she accepted the inevitable and tried to do her duty, poor girl! She was already finding out what a bad one Malpas was."

"Curse him! don't mention his name here!" cried Morrison savagely.

"I say she was already finding out what a cursed scoundrel Malpas was when she married you."

"She encouraged his visits afterwards," cried Morrison fiercely. "The villain owned it to me."

"And you didn't thrust your fist down his throat?"

Morrison got up and paced the room.

"Look here, Frank, old fellow: you are beginning to find out what a donkey you have been. You are easy-going, and it's no hard job to lead you away. Now tell me this: didn't Malpas introduce you to a certain lady?"

"Yes," was the sulky reply.

"Of course," said d.i.c.k. "He takes you and moulds you like putty, introduces you to people so as to make your wife jealous, out of revenge for your supplanting him, and then tries to supplant you in turn."

"d.i.c.k Millet," cried Morrison, "you mean well, but I can't bear this.

Either be silent or go. If I think of the scene on that dreadful night when I was sent home by a note written by that scoundrel of a brother-in-law of yours--"

"Meaning yourself?" said d.i.c.k coolly.

"I mean that double-faced, double-lived, double-dyed traitor, John Huish."

"What!"

"The man who has fleeced me more than Malpas--curse him!--ever did."