He nodded his head, in acquiescence, and began pacing the room. "It is of her intimacy with Lady Sanely that I would speak; these frequent visits there. Do you know what they say?" "No," he replied, assuming great indifference, his thoughts apparently directed to placing his feet on one particular portion of the pattern of the carpet, and to nothing else. "They say--they do say"--Grace faltered, hesitated: she hated to do this, and the question flashed across her, could she still avoid it? "Say what?" said Mr. Grubb, carelessly. "That play to an incredible extent is carried on there. And that Adela has been induced to join in it." His assumed indifference was forgotten now, and the carpet might have been patternless for all he knew of it. He had stopped right under the chandelier, its flood of light illumining his countenance as he looked long and hard at Grace, as one in a maze. Much that had been inexplicable in his wife's conduct for some little time past was rendered clear now. Her feverish restlessness on the evenings she was going to Lady Sanely's; her coming home at all hours, jaded, sick, out of spirits, yet unable to sleep; her extraordinary demands for money, latterly to an extent which had puzzled and almost terrified him. But he had never yet refused it to her. "It must be put a stop to somehow," said Grace. "It must," he answered, resuming his walk, and drawing a deep breath. "What's all this wet on the carpet?" "An accident this evening. Some ink was thrown down: my fault, I believe. At any cost, any sacrifice," continued Lady Grace. "If the habit should get hold of Adela, there is nothing but unhappiness before her--perhaps ruin." "Any cost, any sacrifice, that I can make, shall be made," repeated Mr. Grubb. "But Adela will listen to no remonstrance from me. You know that, Grace." "You must--stop the supplies," suggested Grace, dropping her voice to a confidential whisper. "Has she had much of late?" "Yes." "More than her allowance? Perhaps not, as that is so liberal." "Her allowance!" half laughed her husband, not a happy laugh. "It has been, to what she has drawn of me, as a silver coin in a purse of gold." Grace clasped her hands. "And you let her have it! Did you suspect nothing?" "Not of this nature. I suspected that she might be buying costly things--after the reckless fashion of Selina Dalrymple. Or else that--forgive me, Grace, I would rather not say more." "Nay," said Grace, rising to put her hand on his arm and meeting his earnest glance, "let there be entire confidence between us; keep nothing back." "Well, Grace, I fancied she might be lending it to your mother." "No, no; my mother has not borrowed from her lately. Oh, how can we save her! This is an insinuating vice that gains upon its votaries, they say, like the eating of opium." "Your carriage, my lady," interrupted a servant, entering the room. And Grace caught up her mantle. "Must you go, Grace? It is scarcely eleven."