“Nothing pleasant, I suspect. He is an odious man,” said his wife. “He thinks the Courcys of Faldon were made before Adam.” The despatch of the letters and receipts from Katherine Massarene had, in a measure, prepared her for worse to come. She had not for a moment attributed the sending of them to a movement of generosity. She had supposed that “Billy’s daughter” took that form of vengeance as the simplest and the easiest, and she did not hope for an instant that the secrets contained in that packet would be respected. Therefore she was the less surprised, though the more alarmed, when the curt command of Hurstmanceaux was brought to her. She immediately concluded that Katherine Massarene had been his informant against her. She was not an instant alone after his message came to reflect on what course she should pursue, and could only trust to her usual good fortune to bear her through this crisis, as it had borne her through many another. But as the boat threaded its course through the craft in the roads, she felt a sharper terror than she had ever known, even in the presence of William Massarene, as she saw across the water the well-known lines of the old yawl. When she reached the yacht at the entrance of the roads, she found, to her surprise, that Hurstmanceaux was not on deck to receive her. “Is my brother unwell?” she asked of his skipper. “No, madam,” answered the old man. “I was to ask your Grace to be so good as to go below.” She went down the companionway. Hurstmanceaux rose in silence, and closed the door on her of his cabin when she had entered. He had felt it impossible to force himself to meet her before his crew. She endeavored to laugh. “How very tragic you are!” she said, mastering the great fear which froze her blood; “and how extremely rude!” “I have your signatures,” he said, as he stood before her in the plain little cabin of which the only ornaments were two large photographs of Faldon and a sketch by Watts of his mother. “I suppose, if you have them, you have thrown away a great deal of good money in getting them; and you might have spent it better,” she replied with airy nonchalance. He was so astounded at her levity, indifference, and insolence, that for some moments he was mute. “I don’t like being ordered about like this,” she continued. “It looks very odd to the Bassenthwaites. Why didn’t you come to luncheon? You could have talked to me afterwards on deck. When did you see the children?” A great oath broke from his lips. “Have you no decency? No conscience? Do you not understand? Amongst his papers a letter of Massarene’s was found to me; it contained your signature to him for twelve thousand pounds plus interest, and another signature to Beaumont, the jeweler with whom you placed the Otterbourne jewels in pawn.” His words said all: he expected to see her overwhelmed by shame. But she preserved her equanimity.