"My dear Jill," so it ran, "I've asked Peter to give you this, and I only hope you won't lose it, with your usual carelessness. I'd better tell you at once, there's money enclosed--in five-pound notes. I understand that even in Italy English notes are respected. "You needn't trouble to thank me for it. You'd have had it some day anyhow. Also the cheque I've placed with Cook's--in Rome--to your account there. "Your husband may be all you think. Time alone will prove this--('Oh, Peter--isn't she lovely?'--Jill chuckled with delight.) But I don't like to think of you in a foreign land, without credit. It's lowering for a woman, too, to go to her husband for every penny. Besides, though I've done all I could, your trousseau is an utter farce. You ought to have twelve of everything. And _marked_, don't forget that! ..." "Not twelve husbands, let us hope!" McTaggart leaned over her shoulder, as they sat on the narrow berth, side by side, in the dim-lit cabin, reading the letter. "How shall I be 'marked,' Jill? I hope it doesn't mean hot irons?" "Like this!" Jill pinched him. "Be quiet now--Listen, Peter. Isn't she an old _dear_? "You'll find notes for fifty pounds. Don't go and spend it all at once in a present for your worthless husband! ... And _don't spoil him_. From the start, hold your own. I know men!" "Oh! Aunt Elizabeth!" McTaggart rocked with mirth. "It's hardly respectable, is it, Jill? I'm afraid she's had a shocking 'Past.'" "Anyhow, her Present's all right!" said Jill neatly, folding the letter. "She is good"--her face went grave. "D'you think I really ought to take it?" "You must. She'd be most awfully hurt." He nodded his head wisely at Jill. "We'll make it up to her one day--give her a topping good time and ... oh, I say?" He shifted a little in order to see his wife's face. "I've got to confess something, Jill. Something I did before I left. Promise you won't be cross with me?" "So have I," said Jill quickly. "I quite forgot ... Let's get it over. You first." Absently, she handed across the wad of notes. McTaggart smiled. "No--they're yours. You must guard them from the 'worthless husband.'" "I daren't. I shall lose them," she declared. "Do take them, Peter dear." "All right." He placed them away in his pocketbook, with secret amusement. "It's about your mother," he went on. Jill gave a little start. "I felt so bothered last night--I suppose you'll think me a thorough turn-coat--but I couldn't sleep, thinking of it. She's been so awfully kind to me. And at last I got up and wrote a letter--a nice one"--he glanced at Jill nervously, but she simply nodded. "I tried to show her why we'd done this. And then ... I added"--he broke off--"I hope you won't be angry, Jill, I ought to have told you--discussed it first. But I went out and posted it--on the impulse. To Worthing, you know. She'll find it when she returns to-morrow..."