“What a short visit!” said Mrs. Pelham in a fretful tone. “I hoped you would both stay and have a long talk. There is so much that we have to talk over together.” “I will come again to-morrow,” said Barbara in her soft voice, glancing as she spoke towards her husband. “He is dreadfully upset,” she continued, dropping her voice almost to a whisper. “I will come by myself if I may.” “When do you leave London?” asked Mrs. Pelham. “On Saturday, I think. Don’t we go to Pelham Towers on Saturday, Dick?” “Yes,” replied Pelham. “We will both come to say good-by before we leave London, and we hope to see you, Mrs. Pelham, at the Towers in the winter,” he added. The two women said a few more words to each other, and then Barbara and her husband found themselves outside the door. They walked as far as Mark Place. “I shan’t come in just yet, Barbara,” said Dick. “That visit has upset me—I shall go for a walk. Ask your mother not to wait dinner.” He turned immediately and left her. Barbara went up-stairs to the drawing-room, where her mother was waiting for her. “Did you see Mrs. Pelham?” asked Mrs. Evershed. “Yes.” “I am glad Dick went there at last.” Barbara made no reply. “She is recovering, is she not?” said Mrs. Evershed. “She seemed to me to be in very great trouble,” replied Barbara. “Seeing Dick upset her dreadfully.” “He ought to have gone there long ago,” said her mother. “His not doing so arouses suspicion.” “Arouses suspicion, mother?” echoed Barbara. “What do you mean?” “Well, Barbara, you may as well know it—there has been considerable talk about a _post obit_.” “_Post obit_—what is that?” asked Barbara. “It is a document in which a man makes himself liable to pay away property which he does not possess at the time, but which will be his at the death of a relation.” “I do not understand,” said Barbara. “Well, my dear, that is what your husband has done.” “My husband has signed a _post obit_! I think you must be wrong.” “I am not wrong. Your husband promised to pay a certain sum of money on the death of Piers Pelham. It is always considered a shady thing to do, and I cannot imagine how a man like Dick could have been guilty of such an indiscretion. It makes at the present moment a handle for talk. I don’t like it, I must say so frankly.” Barbara was silent. Her face had turned very pale. “The story as it reached my ears was something as follows,” continued Mrs. Evershed. “You remember how kind we thought Dr. Tarbot when he lent me that ten thousand pounds!” “Certainly, mother, and he was very kind. I don’t like him for most things, but I always did think he was generous about that.” “It seems, Barbara, that he was not quite so generous as we imagined, for Dick—poor fellow!—was implicated in the matter too. Dr. Tarbot required some security for his money. I had none to give him, and the security he claimed was that Dick should pay him as soon as he came in for the property.” “For what property?”