Charles let off a little of his superfluous discomfort in abuse of the people who had presumed to trouble him with the wine bill. Frank sat down, and drew the paper towards him. "I had no idea it could be as much as that, Frank," was the rueful avowal. "And I wish with all my heart their wine parties and their fast living had been at the bottom of the sea!" "_Is_ it as much, Charley?" "To tell the truth, I am afraid it's more," said Charles, with candour. "I've only made a guess at the other amounts, and I know I have not put down too much. That tailor is an awful man for sticking it on: as all the rest of the crew are, for the matter of that. I was trying to recollect how many times I've had horses and traps and things; and I can't." "Does Uncle Francis know it comes to all this?" "No. And I don't care to let him know. Things seem to worry him so much now. I do wish that lost money could be found!" "Just what your father and I have been wishing," cried Frank. "Look here, Charley. I have a little left out of my five hundred pounds. You shall have half of it: just between ourselves, you know: and then the sum my uncle must find will not look so formidable to him. Nay, no thanks, lad: would you not all do as much for me--and more? And we are going to stay on here for a time--and that will save expenses." It was simply impossible for Frank Raynor to see a difficulty of this kind, or indeed of any kind, and not help to relieve it if he had help in his power. That he would himself very speedily require the money he was now giving away, was only too probable: but he was content to forget that in Charley's need. The one individual person in all the house that Charles would have kept from the knowledge of his folly--and in his repentance he looked upon it as folly most extreme--was his mother. He loved her dearly; and he had the grace to be ashamed, for her sake, of what he had done, and to hope that she would never know it. A most fallacious hope, as he was soon to find, for Major Raynor had taken the news up to her with open mouth. She was sitting on the low sofa in her dressing-room that evening at dusk, when Charles went in. The firelight played on her face, showing its look of utter weariness, and the traces of tears. "What's the matter, mother?" he asked, sitting down beside her and taking her hand. "Are you ill?" "Not ill, Charley," she answered. "Only tired and--and out of sorts." "What has tired you? Last night, I suppose. But you have been resting all day." "Not last night particularly. So much fast living does not suit me." "Fast living!" exclaimed Charles in wondering accents. "Is it the gravies?--or the plum-puddings?"