"Yes; he'll pay you back. Still it was good of you." She lifted her eyes to his. "He knows, Frank," she said. "The devil he does!" Caylesham was startled and smiled wryly. "I don't know why I told you that. I suppose I had to talk to somebody. Yes; Harriet Courtland told him--you remember she knew? He made her angry by lecturing her about Tom, and she told him." "He knows, by Jove, does he?" He pulled at his moustache; she pressed his arm lightly. "But, I say, he's taken the money!" He looked at her in a whimsical perplexity. "So you may imagine what it is to me." "But he's taken the money!" "How could he refuse it? It would have meant ruin. Oh, he didn't know when he sent me to you--he'd never have done that." "But he knew when he kept it?" "Yes, he knew then. He couldn't let it go when once he'd got it, you see. Poor old John!" "Well, that's a rum thing!" Caylesham's code was infringed by John's action--that was plain: but his humour was tickled too. "How did he--well, how did he take it?" "Awful!" she answered with a shiver. "But I say, you know, he kept the money, Christine." "That makes no difference--or makes it worse. Oh, I can't tell you!" "It doesn't make it worse for you anyhow. It gives you the whip hand, doesn't it?" She did not heed him; she was set on pouring out her own story. "It's dreadful at home, Frank. Of course I oughtn't to talk to you _of_ all people. But I've had two months and more of it now." "He's not unkind to you?" "If he was, what do I deserve? Oh, don't be fierce. He doesn't throw things at me, like Harriet Courtland, or beat me. But I----" She burst into a little laugh. "I'm stood in the corner all the time, Frank." "Poor old Christine!" "He won't be friends. He keeps me off. I never touch his hand, or anything." A long-dormant jealousy stirred in Caylesham. "Well, do you want to?" he asked rather brusquely. "Oh, that's all very well, but imagine living like that! There's nobody to speak to. I'm in disgrace. He doesn't talk about it, but he talks round it, you know. Sometimes he forgets for five minutes. Then I say something cheerful. Then he remembers and--and sends me back to my corner." Her rueful laugh was not far from a sob. "It's awfully humiliating," she ended, "and--and most frightfully dull." "But how can he----?" "One good scene would have been so much more endurable. But all day and every day!" Caylesham was amused, vexed, exasperated. "But, good heavens, it's not as if it was an ordinary case. Remember what he's done! Why do you stand it?" "How can I help it? I did the thing, didn't I?" His voice rose a little in his impatience. "But he's taken my money. He's living on it. It's saved him. By gad, how can he say anything to you after that? Haven't you got your answer? Why don't you remind him gently of that?" "That would hurt him so dreadfully." "Well, doesn't he hurt you?" "He'd never be friends with me again." "He doesn't seem particularly friendly now."