"Mental balance," Mrs. Barraclough corrected. "For the last few years of his life he thought he was Archbishop of Canterbury and if dead people think I'm sure he believes he is buried in Westminster Abbey. There, run along, my dears, and leave me to collect my thoughts." But she kissed Flora and Jane before letting them go. Isabel stayed in the room. "So my boy is in danger," said Mrs. Barraclough with the least touch of tragedy in her voice. Isabel came forward and put an arm around her neck. "You knew, my dear?" Isabel nodded. "They oughtn't to have told you." Mrs. Barraclough snorted defiantly. "Stuff and nonsense. Think I hadn't guessed? After all, a proper man ought to be in danger. Besides," she added, "he's a good enough reason, hasn't he?" "What reason?" "Doesn't he want to marry you?" "I know," said Isabel forlornly, "but that would have happened in any case." "Don't you be too sure, my dear. Now I'm going to let you into my confidence--mind I'm only putting two and two together but I'm pretty sure I've got the total right. Did you know that Tony had put every penny he possessed into this enterprise?" Isabel started. "No. What makes you believe that?" "Because all I've got is in it too, and he would never ask of me what he feared to do himself." "Then you know all about it?" "Hardly anything." "But he oughtn't----" "I think the risks and dangers came afterward." "Even so," said Isabel, "it's just for money. That's what I hate so." "Isn't it just for you," said Mrs. Barraclough gently. "Just because if he failed he wouldn't be able to make you his wife." "He never told me." "Of course he didn't. How could he?" "Are you sure of all this?" "Practically certain. You see his Uncle Arthur is executor of Tony's affairs. Executors are not supposed to speak but Uncle Arthur was an exception who proves the rule." "For me," said Isabel slowly. "For our marriage--for us. Oh, I'm so glad it wasn't for cash." A cloud came over her brow. "But it makes it frightfully difficult for me supposing I had to----" "What?" "I mustn't say--even to you." Mrs. Barraclough didn't press for an answer. She was pleased there was a little bit of mystery left over. Isabel kissed the old lady very tenderly and walked out into the rose garden by herself. There was a glow on her cheeks almost as pink as the roses themselves. It was a sweet relief that Anthony had gone into these dangers more for her sake than any other reason and that their happiness and future rested on his success. In her twenty-one years of life she had come too much into contact with men whose ruling passion was the dollar to the exclusion of all else. At the back of her head the fear had haunted her that Anthony had been bitten by the money bug--the hateful contagion that straightened and thinned the lips, chilled the emotions and case-hardened the kindliest natures. But now that fear was gone to be replaced with glad assurance.