“Look here,” she said, “it is better for us to have a perfectly clear understanding upon one point. I know the exact position of your affairs, and I know, too, that the two hundred a year which your lawyer has been sending out to you came partly out of a few old trees and partly out of his own pocket. How you are going to live over here I cannot imagine, but it isn't the least use expecting Henry to do a thing for you. The poor man has scarcely enough pocket money to pay his travelling expenses when he goes lecturing.” “Lecturing?” Dominey repeated. “What's happened to poor Henry?” “My husband is an exceedingly conscientious man,” was the dignified reply. “He goes from town to town with Lord Roberts and a secretary, lecturing on national defence.” “Dear Henry was always a little cranky, wasn't he?” Dominey observed. “Let me put your mind at rest on that other matter, though, Caroline. I can assure you that I have come back to England not to borrow money but to spend it.” His cousin shook her head mournfully. “And a few minutes ago I was nearly observing that you had lost your sense of humour!” “I am in earnest,” he persisted. “Africa has turned out to be my Eldorado. Quite unexpectedly, I must admit, I came in for a considerable sum of money towards the end of my stay there. I am paying off the mortgages at Dominey at once, and I want Henry to jot down on paper at once those few amounts he was good enough to lend me in the old days.” Caroline, Duchess of Worcester, sat perfectly still for a moment with her mouth open, a condition which was entirely natural but unbecoming. “And you mean to tell me that you really are Everard Dominey?” she exclaimed. “The weight of evidence is rather that way,” he murmured. He moved his chair deliberately a little nearer, took her hand and raised it to his lips. Her face was perilously near to his. She drew a little back--and too abruptly. “My dear Everard,” she whispered, “Henry is in the house! Besides--Yes, I suppose you must be Everard. Just now there was something in your eyes exactly like his. But you are so stiff. Have you been drilling out there or anything?” He shook his head. “One spends half one's time in the saddle.” “And you are really well off?” she asked again wonderingly. “If I had stayed there another year,” he replied, “and been able to marry a Dutch Jewess, I should have qualified for Park Lane.” She sighed. “It's too wonderful. Henry will love having his money back.” “And you?” She looked positively distressed. “You've lost all your manners,” she complained. “You make love like a garden rake. You should have leaned towards me with a quiver in your voice when you said those last two words, and instead of that you look as though you were sitting at attention, with a positive glint of steel in your eyes.” “One sees a woman once in a blue moon out there,” he pleaded.