Joan felt that there was a bad time coming--especially for Uncle Jimmy.

"We--we're not engaged," she faltered. Then she continued swiftly, for there was a look on Jimmy Marrable's brown and wrinkled face that frightened her, and she wanted to get explanations over: "Hughie and I didn't quite care for one another--in that way. No, I'm a liar. _I_ didn't care for Hughie in that way."

"He asked you, then?"

"Yes."

"And you--wouldn't--?"

Joan nodded. She suddenly felt unreasonably mean and despicable. She had declined to marry Hughie in all good faith, as she had a perfect right to do, for the very sufficient reason that she did not like him--or his way of putting things--well enough; and she had felt no particular compunction at the time in dealing the blow. But none of these reasons seemed any excuse for hurting Uncle Jimmy.

Since then, too, her feelings towards Hughie himself had altered to an extent which she was just beginning to realise. Of late she had found herself taking a quite peculiar interest in Hughie's movements. Why, she hardly knew. He paid her few attentions; he was habitually uncompromising in what he considered the execution of his duty; and he had made a shocking mess of her affairs. But--he was in trouble; people were down on him; and he had been her friend ever since she could remember.

Now Joan Gaymer, if she was nothing else, was loyal; and loyalty in a woman rather thrives on adversity than otherwise. And a woman's loyalty to a man who is her friend, if you endeavour to overstrain it or drive it into a corner, in nine cases out of ten will protect itself, Proteus-like, by turning into something entirely different, a something which is quite impervious to outward attack and can only be strained to breaking-point by one person--the man himself; and not always then, as countless undeserving husbands know. Joan's loyalty to Hughie was in some such process of transition. She thought about him a good deal, but she had never once faced the question of her ultimate relations with him. The modern maiden is not given to candid a.n.a.lysis of her own feelings towards members of the opposite s.e.x,--she considers these exercises "Early Victorian," or "sentimental," or "effeminate"; and consequently Joan had never frankly asked herself what she really thought about Hughie Marrable. At times, say when she heard people speak ill of her deputy-guardian behind his back, she had been conscious that she was hot and angry; at others, when something occurred to bring home to her with special force the tribulations that Hughie was enduring, she had been conscious of a large and dim determination to "make it up to him," in some manner as yet undefined and at some time as yet unspecified. In short, like many a daughter of Eve before her, she had not known her own mind. She knew it now. Her heart smote her.

Suddenly Jimmy Marrable's voice broke in with the rather unexpected but not altogether unreasonable question:--

"Then if you aren't either engaged or married to Hughie, may I ask what the deuce you are doing in his house?"

"It isn't his house," replied Joan, recalling her wandering attention to the rather irascible figure by her side. "He has let it to the Leroys, and he and I are both staying here as guests just now."

"What on earth did the boy want to let the place for? Why couldn't you and the Leroys come and stay here as _his_ guests?"

"I think," said Miss Gaymer delicately, "that Hughie is--rather hard up."

"Hard up? Stuff! He has eight hundred a year, and enough coming in from the estate to make it pay its own way without any expense to him. How much more does he want?"

"I don't think Hughie is a very good business man," said Joan.

She made the remark in sincere defence of Hughie, just as a mother might say, "Ah, but he always _had_ a weak chest!" when her offspring comes in last in the half-mile handicap. But Jimmy Marrable, being a man, took the suggestion as a reproach.

"Nonsense!" he said testily. "Hughie has as hard a head as any man I know. What do you mean by running him down? Have you any complaint to make of the way he has managed _your_ affairs--eh?"

"None whatever," said Joan promptly.

"But--bless my soul!" cried Jimmy Marrable; "I forgot! You haven't _got_--" He paused, and appeared to be working out some abstruse problem in his head. "Look here, Joey," he continued presently, "if you aren't married to Hughie, what are you living on?"

Joan stared at him in astonishment.

"On the money you left behind for me," she said. "What else?"

The old gentleman regarded her intently for a moment, and then said:--

"Of course: I forgot. I suppose Hughie pays it to you quarterly."

"Yes--into my bank account," replied Miss Gaymer with a touch of pride.

"How much?"

"Is it _quite_ fair to tell?" inquired Joan, instinctively protecting her fraudulent trustee.

"Of course. It was my money in the first instance. Go on--how much?"

"Four hundred a year," said Joan. "It was three hundred at first. Hughie told me you hadn't left as much as he expected, and that I should have to be careful. But Ursula Harbord--she is the girl I share a flat with: she is frightfully clever about money and business--told me to ask Hughie what interest I was getting on my capital, or something. I found out for her--four per cent, I think it was--and she said it wasn't _nearly_ enough. There were things called preference shares, or something, that pay ten or twelve per cent; and Hughie must sell out at once, and buy these instead. What's the matter?"

Jimmy Marrable had suddenly choked.

"Nothing! Nothing!" he said, in some confusion. "A smart girl, this friend of yours! Takes a large size in boots and gloves, I should say, and acts as honorary treasurer to various charitable organisations!

Twelve per cent! Aha!" He slapped himself feebly. "And what did Master Hughie say to _that_?"

"I could see he didn't half like it," continued Joan; "but Ursula had declared that if I wouldn't allow her to speak to him, she would consult some responsible person; as she was _sure_ Hughie was mismanaging things disgracefully. So to keep her quiet I let her. I think Hughie saw there was something in what she said, though; because he immediately agreed to give me four hundred a year in future instead of three. _Is_ it enough, Uncle Jimmy, or has poor Hughie really made a mess of things, as people say? _Say_ it's enough, Uncle Jimmy! I _know_ he did his best, and I'd rather go without--"

"Enough?"

Jimmy Marrable turned and scrutinised his ward closely, as if appraising her exact value. Certainly she was very lovely. He whistled softly, and nodded his head in an enigmatical manner.

"I'd have done it myself," he murmured darkly. "Enough?" he repeated aloud. "My little girl, do you know how much capital an income of four hundred a year represents?"

Joan shook her head. Her experience of finance was limited to signing a cheque in the proper corner.

"Well, about ten thousand pounds."

"Hoo!" said Miss Gaymer, pleasantly fluttered. "Have I got all that?"

"No."

"Oh! How much, then?"

Jimmy Marrable told her.

CHAPTER XIX

IN WHICH LOVE FLIES OUT OF THE WINDOW

Hughie closed the door on Joan, and breathed a gentle sigh of relief. He was spoiling for a fight, and he had just got his hands free, so to speak. Brief but perfect satisfaction lay before him.

He resumed his position in front of the fire. Mr. Haliburton sat on an oak table and swung his legs.

"Now, Marrable--" began the latter briskly.

Hughie interrupted him.

"Mr. Haliburton," he said, "you heard my intimation to Miss Gaymer just now?"

"I did," said Mr. Haliburton.