"You've discontinued them altogether--haven't you?"

"Yes. Not without regret, both my husband and I decided that we could not keep up that little festival. Of course you know, we have been obliged to cut down expenses wherever possible. The times are not very good."

Of course he knew very well all about her difficulties in the house and in the shop.

"Better times are coming," he said cheerily. "I hear on all sides of the low ebb of trade. It's a regular commercial crisis. But things are going to improve. The rotten enterprises will go down, and the really sound ones will come out stronger than ever."

"Oh, I forgot. You like to smoke--but I'm afraid the cigars are locked up, too."

"I've plenty in my pocket--if you're sure you don't mind."

She laughed amiably. "How can you ask? I'm quite smoke-dried. I let Richard smoke all over the house."

While he cut his cigar and lit it, he thought how wonderful she was--with the mingled pride and courage that allowed her always to speak of her Richard as if he had been everything that a husband should be.

He sat smoking for a few minutes in a comfortable silence, while she, with her hands placidly clasped upon her lap, gazed reflectively at the fire.

"Now," he said, holding his cigar over the fender and gently tapping it until the whitened ash fell, "there are one or two little things that I'd like to talk to you about."

She raised her eyes, and looked at him attentively.

"Nothing really worrying," he said quickly. "And something which you'll consider very much the reverse. But I'll keep that for the last.... I had a call the other day from your son-in-law, Mr. Kenion."

"Did you?"

"Yes. Amongst other matters, he went for me about the marriage settlement;" and Mr. Prentice laughed and nodded his head. "You know, he says that Enid ought to have been given power to raise money for his advancement in life. His friends had told him it is always done, when the wife has the money; and he thought that the trustees ought to manage it somehow--because he has been offered a great opening. You'll smile when you hear what it was."

"What was it?"

"There was a fellow called Whitehouse who used to be Young's riding-master; and it seems he has made some money in London, and set up a smart livery stable--and he proposed that Mr. Kenion should join forces with him. Mr. Kenion was to go about the country, buying horses--and so on.... But I only mentioned this to amuse you. Of course I said Bosh--not to be thought of."

"It does not sound very promising, or very reputable."

"Besides, where did Enid come in? Was she to accompany him, or to stay moping at home by herself?... Do you see much of them out there?"

Mrs. Marsden confessed that she had not as yet ever seen the Kenions in their home.

"It isn't that there's the least bad blood between us," she hastened to add. "No, dear Enid and I are now the best of friends. Ever since her marriage she has been sweet to me. But life rushes on so fast--and married women are not free agents. When Richard is away, I consider myself responsible in the shop."

"Just so." And Mr. Prentice, puffing out some smoke, looked at the ceiling. "By the by, that's rather an awkward dispute that Mr. Marsden has let himself into with those German people."

"What is the dispute?"

"Hasn't he told you about it?"

"I don't seem to remember--but no doubt he told me."

"Well, if he hasn't it's a good sign: because it probably means that he intends to act on my advice after all."

Then he explained the odious mess that Marsden had made of his American office equipments. It appeared that, when arranging to sell these wretched things for a handsome commission, he had undertaken to send his princ.i.p.als accurate monthly reports and immediately account for all moneys received; and had further bound himself, in default of carrying out the precise provisions of the agreement, to take over at catalogue price the entire stock that had been entrusted to his care. But he had sent no reports; he had forgotten all his undertakings; he had received cash for three small articles and had never furnished any account; and the Germans said the goods now belonged to him, and not to them.

Mr. Prentice declared that it was the most imprudent agreement he had ever read; and, although speaking guardedly, he implied that in his opinion no one but a fool would have signed it. But there it was, signed and stamped; and he did not see how you could wriggle out of it.

"Your husband vowed that he wouldn't give in to them. But I told him, from the first, that he hadn't a leg to stand on."

"I'll persuade him not to go to law about it."

"Yes, I'm sure it will be best to settle the wrangle. You see, he took such a high tone with them that they've turned nasty--talk big about obtaining goods under false pretences, and so on. But that's bl.u.s.ter--they'll be glad enough to get their money."

She remembered her thoughts in church. It was hopeless. He kept her in the dark. No business could stand it--the double attack: bleeding and buffeting at the same time. He would destroy their credit too; these continual blunders and the attempts to repudiate obligations would become known; and the firm would acquire a bad name.

"Don't look so grave, my dear. Your husband must pay up, and make the best of it.... And now for my _bonne bouche_." Mr. Prentice's eyes twinkled with kindly merriment; and he spoke slowly, in immense enjoyment of his words. "This is something from which you cannot fail to derive benefit. It is what I have always been hoping for. It will altogether relieve the pressure."

"What is it?"

"Well--immediately facing you there is a large and flourishing organization, known to the world as--"

"O, Mr. Prentice!" Her face had brightened, but now it clouded once more. "Don't say you are going to tell me again that Bence is smashing."

"Yes, my dear, I am. A most tremendous smash!"

And Mr. Prentice repeated the old story in a slightly altered form.

According to his certain knowledge, Archibald Bence was vainly striving to raise money--was moving heaven and earth to obtain even a comparatively small sum. About a year ago, one of Bence's bad brothers had been bought out of the business; then the other brother died, and Bence was compelled to satisfy the claims of the widow and children; and since that period he had been drawing nearer and nearer to his catastrophe. Now he was done for, unless he could get some capital to replace what had been taken from him. For years he had been working with the finest possible margin of cash to support his credit. At last he had cut it too fine. The wholesale trade were tired of the risk they had run in dealing with him. They would not supply him any further, unless he showed them first his penny for each reel of cotton or yard of tape.

"But what makes you believe all this?"

"I am not free to mention the sources of my information. There is such a thing as backstairs knowledge."

Mr. Prentice nodded his head, and smiled enigmatically, as he said this.

Then he went on to speak of the solicitors who acted for Bence. Messrs.

Hyde & Collins were held in supreme contempt by old-fashioned Mr.

Prentice. They were--as he never scrupled to say--sharp pract.i.tioners, shady beggars, dirty dogs; and at the offices in the side street that gives entrance to Trinity Square, they looked after the dubious affairs of a lot of shabby clients. It was a bad sign when a Mallingbridge citizen went to Hyde & Collins: it meant that his finances were shaky, or that he had become involved in some disreputable transaction.

"It was enough for me," said Mr. Prentice, "to know that Bence was in their hands. I guessed six years ago what would come of it."

"Yes, but guesses, guesses! What are guesses?"

"My dear, you have only to _look_ at Bence now. It is written in his face--a desperate man."

And Mr. Prentice reminded Mrs. Marsden of the fact that from his office windows he had an uninterrupted view down the side street to the front door of Hyde & Collins. Well, every day, and two or three times a day, Archibald Bence could be seen hurrying to his solicitors--a man driven by despair, a gold-seeker amidst unyielding rocks, a poor famished little rat scampering to and fro in quest of food.

"Of course," said Mr. Prentice, with a touch of pity in his voice, "it's his brothers who have done for him. They have literally sucked him dry.

Really, if it wasn't for _you_, I could almost feel sorry for him. But the dirty tricks he has played you put him out of court."

"I wonder," said Mrs. Marsden, thoughtfully looking into the fire.

"Don't wonder," said Mr. Prentice jovially. "Just wait and see. You won't have long to wait."