"You don't offer to give me back the money, but I suppose that is what is in your mind," he said.

His half-bantering tone stung her like the lash of a whip; she was silent only because she could not speak.

"Well, my dear, you may as well put that out of your mind once and for all; that little piece of paper which you worked at so carefully is not to be redeemed by money."

He searched in his pockets, found his cigarette case, paused to strike a match on his heel, and began smoking without any pretence of courtesy.

"This is a funny world, and no mistake! I was very fond of you when I came upon you first," he said; "I was prepared to make no end of a fool of myself about you. And you snubbed me up and down dale; wouldn't have anything to do with me. You were quite able to get along without my friendship, thank you. There are some things that stick, you know, Camilla, and the way you shut down on me in those old days is one of those things. I must say you have a rummy notion of morality! I wasn't good enough to come near you, yet you had no hesitation whatever about robbing me when the time came along."

An exclamation like a sob escaped Camilla. He laughed.

"It is an ugly way of putting it," he said; "but it is the only way, and I fancy that with his peculiarly straightforward views, his working man's propensity for calling a spade a spade, Mr. Haverford will regard the matter in the same light."

The woman turned at this half pa.s.sionately.

"You are not going to tell him! Oh, you cannot. You _shall_ not!"

"It lies with you to decide whether I tell him or not."

He puffed out some smoke on to the damp air, and Camilla watched it wreathe and separate and finally fade into the mist that was gathering about the trees; watched it with eyes dry and hot with misery and shame and fear.

Suddenly Broxbourne turned to her.

"You must break with this man," he said; "I have a prior claim. I don't intend to let you marry him."

She stood still and looked at him with dilated eyes.

"Break my engagement? Impossible.... _Impossible_!"

Her heart was throbbing in her breast, her lips were white.

"Nothing is impossible," answered the man; "after all, I am not treating you badly. If I did the right thing, I should go straight to Haverford. What do you think he'd say, if he heard my pretty little story? How you begged a cheque out of me for a charity bazaar, and how, by chance having got hold of a blank cheque of mine, you filled it in for a nice large sum, and signed my name, by Gad! as bold as bra.s.s! I remember," said Broxbourne, shaking the ash from his cigarette, "I was in a tearing hurry when I answered your letter--it was the very day I left for America, in fact. I just scribbled the small cheque anyhow, and never noticed that as I tore it out of my cheque-book I tore a blank one with it. But you found that out in double quick time, didn't you?..."

Camilla turned to him. The hard, dry look had gone from her eyes; they were dim with tears.

"Sammy!" she said brokenly, "don't rub it in so hard. I know.... I _know_ how horrible this thing is! When you came back last November, I nearly died when I saw you. I prepared myself for everything, and when you were so friendly, when you said nothing, I began to hope, even to believe, you did not know. Why did you not speak then? Don't you see how much worse it is for me now?"

Sir Samuel smiled at her.

"Of course it is," he said, his cigarette between his teeth; "I know that.... I tumbled to your little game with this man the very moment I came back, and I promised myself some fun. It tickled me to death to have you running after me just as if you liked me, pretending to want me, and imagining you were throwing dust in my eyes! I settled then I would wait awhile. Worse for you! Well, do you want me to say 'I am sorry?'"

"I ... I want you to be merciful ... I am in your hands, I know it--but you--you won't be cruel to me, Sammy," said Camilla, in that same moved voice. She caught her breath. "If Rupert Haverford must be told ... I will tell him...." She turned to Broxbourne abruptly. "Do you know why I have promised to marry him? It is for my children's sake. Ned's father suddenly stopped the money he had been giving me, and demanded the children. If I had not done this thing, made them, myself, independent, he would have taken them from me. It is the truth I am telling you, Sammy--the truth. The children are more to me than life...."

Broxbourne answered her coolly; he was unmoved by her broken voice and her stained face.

"I have only been back a day or two, but from what I can gather," he said easily, "I believe you are now a fairly wealthy woman. I must say he has behaved extraordinarily well, but of course that was a little bit more of your cleverness. Anyhow, as you have just told me you have only promised to marry him because of the children, you see the man himself doesn't count. You've got the money, and he can't take that away from you--I don't suppose he would if he could--so all you've got to do is to slide out of things as quickly as you can. I'll give you a month to do it in," Broxbourne said magnanimously.

Camilla brushed her eyes with her pocket-handkerchief; she was utterly unable to answer him, and at that moment they heard the voice of Betty calling to them. The child was evidently running back to join them.

"Go on," said Camilla, hoa.r.s.ely; "go on ... and meet ... her.... For G.o.d's sake, go ... don't let her come ... I ... I will follow...."

"I'll take her along with me to the stables," Broxbourne said, and he limped onwards with a smile, as Camilla turned, and half wildly, half blindly, walked sharply away from the house.

CHAPTER XIII

The year was speeding into spring. Easter had come and gone.

Down in the country, in the old-fashioned gardens that stretched at the back of Yelverton, the sun was busy bringing out the leaves, and even the blossoms, almost visibly.

The children had found a delightfully warm, sheltered spot, and here they sat with Caroline basking in the sunshine, protected from the chilliness of the spring wind by the tall, sunburnt wall on which spread pear trees and peach trees, the pink flowers and the white flowers mingling together where the long arms of the branches met and touched.

Betty was supposed to be having lessons, but she was not a very diligent pupil; not that any one urged her to learn.

Mrs. Brenton's theory was that children should run wild till they were seven or eight, provided they were properly influenced, and it was really Agnes Brenton who superintended with Caroline the care of the children now.

Mrs. Lancing had gone back to town just before Easter rather hurriedly, and she had not taken the children with her.

Her plans had been changed. Instead of staying in London she went to the south of England on a visit. From there she wrote announcing that she had felt impelled to postpone the marriage.

"I don't quite know what is wrong, but my heart is playing me tricks, and I really want to feel much better before I rush into my new responsibilities.... I have a sort of idea the Devonshire air will do me no end of good."

The children rejoiced openly when they found they were not going away from Yelverton.

Rupert Haverford came frequently down to see them all. His manner with Caroline always amused her. He seemed to regard it as a duty that he should put her through a sort of cross-examination.

"I wish you would understand," she said to him, half impatiently, once, "that I really and truly want to be with the children. What should I do with myself if I went away from them?"

"You might travel. You might study. Your income is not a very large one, but still it would give you the opportunity of coming in contact with a lot of things about which you know nothing now."

Caroline laughed at this.

"Well, that is true. I am woefully ignorant," she said. "It is rather impertinent of me to call myself a governess, but I am studying all the time. Mr. Brenton is educating me. I shall be quite learned in a little while."

"I only feel that it is my duty to put before you certain possibilities," Haverford said.

And Caroline answered--

"I am very much obliged to you, but I prefer the certainty that I have to all the possibilities in the world."

Then there had been a rather brisk pa.s.sage of arms between them on the subject of Caroline's money.

"I wish you would not pretend things to me," the girl had said, when they had first discussed the matter. "I can't help feeling that this is all your doing, that you consider it your duty to make some provision for me; in fact," Caroline had added defiantly, "I don't believe my mother had anything to leave me." After a little pause she said, "And I a.s.sure you I don't care in the least to take money from other people, even from you, except, of course, when I earn it...."

She was astonished to see how cross he looked.