'Well, we'll hope so. Indeed, without self-conceit, I think I may safely say that I believe he was.'

There was something in his tone which struck me.

'I don't know what you mean, sir, but I see you do mean something. I hope it's something to your credit.'

He moved, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece, so that his face was half-turned away from me. He was so tall that he had to stoop to get his elbow in its place, though the shelf is pretty high.

'So the real name of the man I knew as Montagu Babbacombe is Merrett.'

'Yes, sir; James Merrett.'

'James Merrett. That is his real name?'

'So far as I know.'

'At any rate it is the name under which you married him.'

'It is.'

'Where were you married, Mrs. Merrett?'

'What has that to do with you, sir?'

He smiled, though not what I should call merrily.

'True. What has it? I was only thinking that, if he had one pseudonym he may quite possibly have had another, and that his name might not be Merrett after all: in which case, as his wife, you might find yourself in a peculiar position.'

'I don't see how. I married him in good faith, and whether his name is Brown or Robinson, I'm his wife.'

'I should advise you not to be too certain. The law has its own way of looking at such matters.'

'I'm not afraid of the law. When I require its protection, Mr.

Howarth, I shall have it. Why have you come to put such thoughts into my head?'

'I was thinking of you last night after you had gone, and I could not but feel interested in your case, both on account of your youth and your beauty.'

My fingers began to tingle that he should talk to me like that.

'If that's all you have to say, Mr. Howarth, you must excuse my saying that I was just making a pudding when you came.'

'And an excellent pudding, too, I am sure. By the way, Mrs. Merrett, have you any children?'

'I have two.'

Just then there came screams of laughter from the other side of the wall. He held up his hands.

'Ah? There they are! I thought I heard childish voices. Both girls?'

'A boy and a girl.'

What he was driving at I could not think. Somehow I felt pretty sure that the idea of my having children was one he didn't like at all; though what it had to do with him was beyond me altogether, and like his impudence. The queer thing was that, in spite of the fuss she made of them, I'd had the same feeling about Miss Desmond. I was beginning to wonder what connection there was between them; and how it came about that they were both in my house at the same time. That they were there to find out something, I could see; I could also see that they already knew more about me than I did about them. The interest which this fine lady and gentleman took in my belongings was clean out of the common. It was a good deal more than mere curiosity. And as for supposing that it was just sympathy with a stranger, I wasn't so simple as to do that. That Mr. FitzHoward was right, and that Mr.

Howarth was mixed up in some way with my James, was getting clearer and clearer; but exactly in what way I had yet to discover.

He had got back to his fidgeting again. I could see that there was something which he very much wanted to say, but which he didn't find it easy to put quite in the shape he wanted. When he did start to get it out, and I began to have some idea of what it was he meant, I was almost too taken aback for words.

'As I have already remarked, I took the greatest possible interest in Mr. Merrett--or, as he was known to me, Mr. Montagu Babbacombe.'

'I heard you say it.'

'And while not accepting even the slightest shadow of a shade of responsibility for his--er--no doubt temporary absence from his family, I should like, at the same time, to a.s.sure you that my interest is of a thoroughly practical kind.'

He stopped, as if expecting me to say something. I didn't know what he meant; and said so.

'If you'll explain, Mr. Howarth, I dare say I shall understand what you're talking about.'

'It's quite simple, Mrs. Merrett; perfectly simple.'

I didn't think so. If I'd been asked I should have said that there wasn't anything simple about him. He wasn't that kind. He went on in that smooth, easy voice of his, every tone of which rang false to me.

'Be frank with me, Mrs. Merrett. Believe me, you will find in me a friend.' I didn't believe anything of the kind. 'Financially, has Mr.

Merrett left you in any way awkwardly placed?'

'Do you mean, am I short of money?'

'Exactly. Plain language is always the best; isn't it, Mrs. Merrett?

Are you short of money?'

'And what business have you to ask me such a question, any more than I have to ask you?'

'I ask merely because I should propose, if such were the case, to supply any deficiency. It would give me genuine pleasure.'

'What would give you genuine pleasure?'

Holding out his hands in front of him he began to wave them up and down--as if he wanted to persuade me how simple he really was. But it wouldn't do. Especially as what he started saying nearly took my breath away.

'It's in this way. From what you've said of your husband's previous proceedings--we won't call them eccentricities, you might object.'

'I should object.'

He smiled.

'I thought so. Well, from what you've said, it appears to be quite within the range of possibility that his absence may continue several weeks; even months. Under those circ.u.mstances one can easily understand how, as you yourself put it, you may become short of money.

One moment!' He saw how words were trembling on the tip of my tongue, which it was all I could do to keep from tumbling off it. 'If that is, or should become, the case, I shall be very happy, while his absence continues, to make you an allowance.'

'To make me an allowance?' I stared. 'What allowance?'

'Well, shall we say, five pounds a week?'

'Five pounds a week?' I gasped. 'You'll allow me five pounds a week?'