"'What I most admire in you Are your eyes of lovely blue.' "What would you have done, Deleah, if a gentleman had pulled the cracker with you? Because your eyes aren't blue; they're yellow-brown." "I should have passed it on to Bernard." "And why wouldn't you have passed it on to me, pray, miss. My eyes are as blue as Bernard's, I suppose?" "Your eyes are green," from a Bernard ever ready for the fray. "Mama! Mama! He's at me again! Bernard is at me again! He says my eyes are green!" "Come, come, children! Hush, Bessie! You are too bad, Bernard. Now then, we have not yet decided who was the belle of the ball, last night." It was while they gave their opinion on this momentous subject that Franky fell asleep over his cracker papers and was sent to bed, an hour before his time, his mother going up to hear him say his prayers, as was her nightly custom. She was crossing the hall on her return when the front door opened and the master of the house, to his wife's astonishment, reappearing, stepped in again. "Lydia!" he whispered, and with an odd shrinking from him, she noticed that there was something furtive in his manner, and that his voice, wont to sound alarmingly through the house on his return to it, was husky and hushed. "Lydia, how much money have you in the house?" "Money!" his wife repeated, and gazed upon him with alarm in her eyes. "Money--I gave you a cheque for ten pounds on Monday. How much of it is left?" Most of it had gone in expenses for the dance. "I have only about thirty shillings left, William." Without knowing why, her voice, like his, had sunk to the tone of mystery. "Give it me, then. Quick!" She hesitated, fearfully questioning: "Has anything--?" "Never mind now. Get it. Get all you can lay your hands on. Quick!" Her purse was in the pocket hidden in the many folds of her silk dress. There was not quite so much in it as she had reckoned; she slipped the sovereign and few shillings with trembling fingers into his hand. "I could ask Bernard, and Bessie, William." "No! I won't take their money," he said. "This will get me to London." "To London?" "I am going up by the mail." "But why in this hurry?" Not the prospect of the sudden journey, but the something secret and horribly unfamiliar in his manner frightened her. He came a step further into the hall and picking up a dark muffler from a chair, wound it round his neck. She saw that his face was livid, and looked suddenly flabby, and that his hands were shaking. "Business," he whispered. "Don't worry." As he turned to the door, she laid a hand on his arm. "Something is wrong. I have felt it all the evening. Tell me, have you had losses, William?" He nodded, without looking at her. "That's about the tune of it." "You should have told me." "I've told you now. You'll hear about it soon enough."