Mrs. Browning wept on, and clung to him faster; and Nigel waited with dull patience. He might have waited thus another half-hour, but for Fulvia. She hardly knew how she managed to end the scene; yet she did manage it. Nigel followed her out of the room in a mechanical fashion, and stood outside in the gas-lit passage, leaning against an old carved press, as if energy for another step had failed him. Fulvia struck a match, and lighted a candle. "Nigel, you are dead-beat. You will go to bed now." There was no immediate answer. Fulvia cast one or two wistful glances at his face, which might have gained years in age during the last few hours. "No," he said. "I must speak to you first." A swift electric shock darted through Fulvia's frame. Speak to her! Speak about what? She could put only one interpretation on the words. The girls' boudoir was close at hand, just across the passage. Nigel had always been free of entrance there, and he turned to go in. Fulvia followed with the candle, which she placed upon the mantelpiece, and Nigel stood facing her. "I have something to tell you," he said. "It has only come to my knowledge to-day. About your money—" "My money! Oh!" Fulvia came a step nearer, both relieved and disappointed. "I can wait about that!" "I cannot!" "There is no hurry—no need yet! As if I cared!" "You will care. It is no good news." "The more need to put off. We have had trouble enough to-day. Must we think of money so soon—when we have only just lost him? I would rather wait, far rather. And you are not well!" "I cannot rest till I have told you." "Well—" she answered reluctantly, "if it is a relief to you, of course—only please get it over as fast as you can." Fulvia paused; and she could see that he was striving to speak, striving and unable. "Oh don't! Pray don't!" she begged piteously. "If you would but wait!" "I have found out—" he tried to say, and the voice was so husky as to be inarticulate. A resolute effort conquered this. He grasped the chair again with both hands, and spoke in a distinct tone: "I have found out what my father meant." "Meant!—When?" "When he begged your pardon." "I don't care what you have found out. I don't care what he meant. I will not hear it now," cried Fulvia passionately. "What do you think I am made of?—Talking of money, money, to me to-day! To-day of all days! I can't bear it, and you can't either! Please leave off!" "No use. You must hear soon; and the sooner the better. I can't stand not telling you." There was a touch of appeal in the words, almost as if he craved her help. At the moment she hardly noticed it. "I have been looking at papers," he went on.