Now, Mrs. Vane had heard the rumours of Mr. Woodward's losses before, and heard them with a glad heart, since the possibility of having to use those letters which were locked up in her dressing-case weighed upon her. But she had not heard them from Paul; had not seen him, in fact, as she had only returned from the country two days before, and had since been ill with fever.

Nevertheless, the very next afternoon, in obedience to a little note left at his club, Paul walked into her flower-decked drawing-room and gave an exclamation of surprise and concern at the white face and figure on the sofa.

"You have been ill," he said quickly; "why didn't you let me know before?"

"Only a go of fever; and I've danced all night long--some of the dances with you, Paul--when I had a worse bout, and no one found me out. Let me make you a cup of tea."

"Please not. I'll take one. Yes! I remember; that was our regimental ball, and there were so few ladies; you never spared yourself, Violet, never knew how to take care of yourself."

"Perhaps not. I must pay someone to do it, I suppose, like other old women; for all my friends are deserting me. Two married last month, and I hear from Mrs. Woodward that your wedding-day is fixed."

"I was not aware of it," he replied, with a frown; "but if it were, I fail to see why I should desert--my friends."

Mrs. Vane laughed. "My dear Paul! you are something of a man of the world; did you ever know of anyone like you keeping up a friendship with anybody like me after his marriage? I mean out of the pages of a French novel. Certainly not; and I am quite resigned to the prospect.

I suffered the blow in a minor degree when you left India. Besides, I should not anyhow see much of you if you lived at Gleneira; and you will have to do so, won't you, till Mr. Woodward recovers himself?"

Paul stirred his tea moodily. "So you have heard, too," he said distastefully.

"Everybody has heard, of course. Such things are a G.o.dsend at this time of the year. Lady Dorset was quite pathetic over your bad luck yesterday, but I told her no one would think the _worse_ of you or Miss Woodward if you were to think _better_ of it, since poverty--even comparative poverty--would suit neither of you."

The spirited pose of her head, as she spoke, the bold challenge of her tone, were admirable.

"You said that! Would you have me break my word because my promised wife had a few pounds less than I expected?"

She laughed again. "How lofty you are, Paul! You caught that trick from Marjory Carmichael. By the way, I heard from her to-day--she comes up to town soon."

"So I believe." His heart gave a throb at the sound of her name, but he would not confess it, even to himself. "Excuse me if I hark back to the other subject. I should like to hear what you have to say on it.

Women have such curious notions of honour, at least, Blanche----"

"So Lady George has been taking you to task, has she? That was very unwise of her. For my part I have no opinion. I never liked the engagement, as you know; I like it still less now, when, if tales be true, Mr. Woodward will not be able to make his daughter so handsome an allowance as--as you expected. But they may not be true."

"There is no reason why I should not tell you that they are true. The allowance will be about a quarter of what was intended. Mr. Woodward spoke to me to-day about it, hinting that it might make a difference; but, of course, I cut him short."

"Of course." There was a fine smile for an instant on her face ere she went on. "Still, he was right, it does make a difference."

"Undoubtedly it makes a difference," echoed Paul, testily. "No one knows that better than I do. But that is no reason why I should back out of my word. We shall have to vegetate at Gleneira, I suppose, or live in a villa somewhere----"

"My poor Paul, how funny you are!" she interrupted, taking up a letter which had been lying beside her, and giving it a little flourish.

"That is just what you could have done--with someone else! So you will do for a girl you do not love, what you would not do for one--but it is really too funny! One half of you being unable to exist without love, the other without money, you cut the Gordian knot by experimenting on life without either! Now, I should have tried to secure both--you might have managed that, I think." She paused a moment, and then went on. "As it is, my friend is not unwilling to play the hero, to a limited extent, because it soothes him and makes him feel less mercenary. Ah! my dear Paul, I understand. Only, might it not be more heroic and less mercenary to give Miss Woodward a chance of something more to her taste than a villa somewhere?--plus, of course, the heroic husband! She may not like heroics; some of us don't. You must be prepared for that."

The gentle raillery of her tone had a touch of seriousness in it which seemed to throw a new light on his view of the subject.

"You mean that it is likely----"

"Yes. I think it extremely likely that the Woodwards would rather break it off."

"But why?" he asked, angrily rising to pace the room; "my prospects have not changed."

"'They twain shall be one flesh,'" quoted Mrs. Vane, lightly. "And do you really think so much of your heroism, that--unaided by love, remember--you will fancy it will compensate Alice Woodward, who loves the pavement, for the damp and dulness of Gleneira? I remember, Paul"--her voice grew a trifle unsteady--"having to decide a similar question, once. To decide whether I could compensate the man I loved for something--well, for something which was not more dear to him than civilisation is to this young lady, and, though I loved him, I knew I could not."

"And--and were you right?" he asked with a sudden interest.

"Of course I was right. He recovered the loss of me rapidly, and yet I am not unattractive--what is more, I am generally considered good company, which I defy anyone to be if he careers up and down the room like a Polar bear. Please sit down and let me make you a nice cup of tea. The last, I am sure, must have been horrid. You don't know how to take care of yourself a bit, Paul, but _you_ are lucky. _You_ will get plenty of people to pay for the privilege of doing so."

He told himself that she talked a great deal of nonsense at times, but that she did it, as she did everything else, with infinite verve and grace. Blanche, who had not said half as much, had made him angry; and here he was seated beside Violet's sofa, enjoying his tea, and feeling that sense of _bien etre_ which he always felt in her company.

Yet even she might have failed in producing this for once, if he could have overheard a conversation which was going on over another cup of tea in Queen's Gardens, where Mrs. Woodward, with a real frown on her usually placid face, was listening to her husband's account of his interview with Paul that morning.

"Very honourable, no doubt, but exceedingly unsatisfactory," she remarked, with asperity. "I must say that I think you failed."

"Did you wish me to give the man his _conge_, my dear?" interrupted her spouse, irritably. "If so, you should have told me so distinctly, but if it comes to that I can write and dismiss him."

"You have such a crude way of putting things, James, and though I don't presume to understand business affairs I must own it seems inexplicable how these difficulties have come about. And Alice is so accustomed to civilisation, and Jack is coming back from Riga next week, so it does seem to me a flying in the face of Providence."

Mr. Woodward looked at her in impatient amaze. "Good heavens! Maria, what do you mean? Who or what is flying in the face of Providence?"

"Everyone! Everything! It seems as if he had been away on purpose, so that there should be no fuss. And they have always been so fond of each other. Alice would be miserable if she had to think about money; so why should she be sacrificed to Captain Macleod's notions of honour----"

"My dear!----"

"Yes, James! Sacrificed! You say you told him plainly the state of the case, and he----"

"Behaved as a gentleman would. Expressed sorrow at my losses, but gave me to understand that it would make no difference to him."

"And to Alice? He never gave a thought to her, I suppose; but you men are all alike--selfish to the core."

"Really, my dear," protested Mr. Woodward, roused by this general attack.

"Well, _you_ are selfish. Are you not sitting there calmly proposing to sacrifice Alice to an adventurer--a principled adventurer if you like, though that is a miserable attempt to--what was it you used to call guaranteed stock?"

"A disastrous attempt to combine safety and speculation," suggested her husband, meekly.

"Just so! and this is a disastrous attempt to combine common sense and romance. But I will not have Alice sacrificed. I will speak to the man myself."

"You shall do nothing of the sort, my dear. If necessary, I can do it; but there is no hurry."

"It must be settled before next week, unless you want a fuss; I tell you that."

"It shall be settled; but I must talk to Alice first. It is surely possible she may be in love with the man?"

Mrs. Woodward shook her head wisely.

"But why, in heaven's name, Maria? He is handsome--gentlemanly--well born. Why should she not love him?"

"Because she is in love with Jack."

"G.o.d bless my soul!"