Miles Ingestre looked at her keenly. An expression that was half cunning, half amused lifted the moody shadows from his face. It was obvious that she did not know what had passed between Wolff and himself, and it was not his intention to tell her. His promise to Wolff on the subject did not weigh with him—he had other and better reasons for keeping silence. In the first place, he had no wish to awaken any sense of gratitude towards her husband in Nora’s heart; in the second, he still needed money. "You need not worry him with my debts," he said carelessly. "They can wait, and anyhow they wouldn’t keep me in Berlin. The difficulty is on the other side." "In England?" "Yes; I must have ready money somehow. I can’t go back until the way has been cleared a little." He pulled himself up on to his elbow. "Look here, Nora, you could help me if you wanted. Wolff can’t and won’t do anything, but there’s Bauer. You don’t need to look so shocked—he’s told me himself that he would do me a good turn, only his sister-in-law has the purse-strings, and you have rather offended her. If you went to her ball on the 18th——" "Miles, it is impossible! You don’t know——" "I only know that if you don’t help me I shall be in a bad fix. When the war breaks out——" "Is war certain?" "Unless they funk it. I believe the ambassador has his trunks packed and his carriage waiting." Nora made a gesture of mingled impatience and despair. "Why must there be war?" she cried. "Why can’t we leave each other alone? What is there to quarrel about?" "Nothing!" Miles retorted. "The whole thing is got up. The beggars want more than is good for them, and we’ve got to keep them in their places. That’s the gist of the matter. It has to come sooner or later." Nora was silent. His words, with their unvaried mingling of scorn and pride, aroused in her an equally mingled feeling of irritation and sympathy. Why was he so sure of victory, why so scornful of "these foreigners"? What right had he to be either contemptuous or arrogant? What right had she to share those feelings with him, even if only in the secret places of her heart? "By the way," Miles went on, watching her intently. "What’s the matter with you and poor old Arnold? He has been here twice to-day, and you have been so-called ’out’ each time. I got a note from him asking what was up. It’s pretty rough luck on him, as he wants to say good-bye." "Good-bye?" Nora repeated. She had started perceptibly, and Miles grinned. "He has marching orders, and is leaving to-morrow night. I bet he would have gone days ago if it hadn’t been—well, for some one!" "Miles, I will not have you talk like that!" She had turned on him scarlet with anger and humiliation, but Miles only burst out laughing.