"Instead of skating this morning I wish you'd go over to Runnydale and have a look at that thorough-bred Candy is breaking for me." Sir Francis knew his man. If Bessie Day had held for him ten times her attraction an errand which had a horse for its objective would have proved more attractive still to Reginald Forcus. With hardly a pang he assented. The young man spent a happy and profitable day at Runnydale with old Candy, a horse-dealer, much affected by the well-to-do youth of the neighbourhood, he having a racy tongue, and a fund of anecdote, and a pleasant, joking, familiar way of transferring money from their pockets to his own. He returned in time for dinner at Cashelthorpe, his brother's country-house a few miles out of Brockenham, which the younger man also made his home. The two dined alone, as was usual of late, the delicate health of Lady Forcus compelling her often to keep her room. "You remember what I told you about Day's affairs this morning?" Sir Francis asked, looking across the table at his brother as they sat down to their soup. Of course Reggie remembered. "Where do you suppose Mr. William Day is spending his evening?" Reggie paused with his spoon on its way to his mouth to say he hoped in the bosom of Mr. William Day's family. "He is spending it in prison." The spoon fell back into its plate, and Reggie's face grew white. "It can't be true! I'll never believe it!" "What did you expect, after what I told you? Unless he had made a bolt of it." "Oh, poor old fellow! But what's the poor old fellow done, then?" "Done? Fraudulently appropriated his clients' money and adapted it to his own uses." "Poor old Day! Oh, poor old devil!" "Well, get your dinner, my dear boy." "He was slapping me on the shoulder, and I was drinking his champagne, last night!" The younger Forcus recovered sufficiently to eat the fish, but his soup had to be removed untasted. He sat, with both hands gripping his table-napkin as it lay across his knees, his eyes on the table-cloth, seeing the pretty Deleah and her fat but agile father dancing down the gay ball-room. In prison! Some one he had known, and touched hands with! Prison! "I wonder of what the poor old fellow was thinking as he banged away at his tambourine last night!" Reggie said. CHAPTER IV Disaster Shortly after Mrs. Day had left her husband sitting in his stocking-feet over the breakfast-room fire, she, in the midst of her children at their several occupations but attentive to what went on beyond, heard his heavy step in the hall, heard the front door open and close.