Delia's face shewed a little impatience. "You're so busy, dear, that I am afraid you forget all I tell you about my own affairs. But I _did_ tell you that my guardian had trustingly paid eight hundred pounds into the bank to last me till the New Year, for house and other expenses--without asking me to promise anything either!" "Well, now, you are going to let us have L500. Is there any difficulty?" "None--except that the ordinary bills I don't pay, and can't pay, will now all go in to my guardian, who will of course be curious to know what I have done with the money. Naturally there'll be a row." "Oh, a row!" said Gertrude Marvell, indifferently. "It's your own money, Delia. Spend it as you like!" "I intend to," said Delia. "Still--I do rather wish I'd given him notice. He may think it a mean trick." "Do you care what he thinks?" "Not--much," said Delia slowly. "All the same, Gertrude"--she threw her head back--"he is an awfully good sort." Gertrude shrugged her shoulders. "I daresay. But you and I are at war with him and his like, and can't stop to consider that kind of thing. Also your father arranged that he should be well paid for his trouble." Delia turned back to the writing-table, and wrote the cheque. "Thank you, dearest," said Gertrude Marvell, giving a light kiss to the hand that offered the cheque. "It shall go to headquarters this evening--and you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you've financed all the three bye-election campaigns that are coming--or nearly." * * * * * Gertrude had gone away to her own sitting-room and Delia was left alone. She hung over the fire, in an excited reverie, her pulses rushing; and presently she took a letter from the handbag on her wrist, and read it for the second time by the light of the blaze she had kindled in the grate. * * * * *