"Fact is—" Mr. Carden-Cox wanted to say something more, and began to fall into a hurry. "Fact is, that has been my theory for some time—as to Fulvia! He thinks it would make up to her if—You believe I'm talking nonsense," with a nervous laugh, meeting Nigel's glance, "but I'm not. Tell you, I can see through a stone wall quicker than some folks. Eh? It's many a year since I first set my heart on something—Nigel knows what; but Browning and I don't commonly hit on the same object. Well, for once we have. Don't believe he would, if it wasn't for something he know must come out. Can't say what, of course. All guess-work. But, suppose now, suppose Fulvia's £50,000 to have been clipped a little by injudicious speculation, say, down to half the amount! Wouldn't be a bad stroke, eh? To throw in a husband for the remainder." "Said husband valued at £25,000!" remarked Dr. Duncan dryly; nevertheless he did not like this style of talk. And Nigel said coldly— "I thought the amount was to be £40,000." "Fifty, if a penny!" Mr. Carden-Cox was very positive. "Might have grown to sixty under good management. Ought to have done so, too!" Dr. Duncan shook hands with both, and the subject dropped. As Fulvia's birthday drew near, an indescribable cloud lay upon the house; felt by all, owned by few. Every thought of merry-making had been given up. Mr. Browning was markedly worse; indeed, it seemed as if, from the hour of admitting himself to be ill enough for medical advice, he had gone steadily down-hill. Or it might be the approach of the birthday. Nobody dared mention the day to him. Nobody dared allude to the coming of age. "Fulvie's money" were words tabooed in his presence. All knew—even Daisy—that agitation might mean death. What could they do, but put possibilities of agitation far away? Fulvia, was foremost in this aim, never forgiving herself the mistake which she had made, in forcing upon him the subject of her own affairs. Despite all efforts to the contrary, the burden upon Mr. Browning grew heavier, the dire apprehension in his eyes became more marked. Every day he noted the flight of time; often, on asking or hearing the day of the month, with an audible groan. It was "like somebody looking forward to his own execution—so odd!" Daisy said with girlish impatience. There could not at this time be a doubt about his eager desire to throw Nigel and Fulvia together. Whether Mr. Carden-Cox had suggested the idea to Mr. Browning, or whether it were his own thought, either way he began from the day of his severe attack to press things forward. "Fulvia and Nigel;" "That dear girl and my boy;" "That noble girl and you, Nigel," were phrases ever on his lips.