"Oh, I took the trouble to verify it." He did not admit, however, that he had sought Petrie’s advice only after the plunge, when the waiting had grown too fearful. "I’m expecting a telegram to-night—that’s the reason I’m nervous. But I’ll have enough to put back the sum I’ve borrowed, and a nice little fortune besides. Don’t you worry." But even as he spoke the comforting words he seemed to lose the confidence which he was vainly trying to assume. The telegram should have arrived in the afternoon. He knew that Petrie, if his investigation had been at all hopeful, would have sent a reassuring word. Then, that the strength of his mother, upon which he had so often leaned, should crumble away as he confessed to her, that he should be forced to carry her anxieties instead of receiving her support, terrified him with its significance. It was all quite palpable to Lady Elizabeth. His drawn face with eyes like burned-out flames showed how the fever of unrest and fear consumed him. "Henry, you are trying to reassure yourself, not me," she said. "No, no, mother, it isn’t that." But it was useless, he could no longer play a part. "Yes, you’re right," he acknowledged as he threw himself down on the great stone bench. "My God, the consequences!—the consequences!" And Lady Elizabeth stood dumb and helpless. For the first time he held out his hands to her, and she was unable to grasp them in support. She could offer no respite to the torture of suspense he endured. As they stood in silence, Diana came from the pergola, "Dear people, are you moon-struck? Our guests are missing you." With an effort Lady Elizabeth turned, "Is the dance over?" she said. Henry’s words followed close: "Have we been gone very long?" "Oh no—but you see they have stopped bridge, and the men want to talk to you about the Fund. They are all so proud of our extraordinary result. They want a statement published so that they can gloat over the envy of the other regiments. "Published—a statement!" but Diana, who was bending over some roses, hardly noticed the strained speech, and Lady Elizabeth motioned him to restrain his agitation. "First, I believe," Diana continued as she seated herself, "there is a committee or somebody to go over the accounts and what do they call it—?" "Audit them," Henry found himself mechanically saying. "Yes, that’s it. They want to know when it will be convenient to-morrow for you, Henry." Quite vaguely he said, "Oh yes—for me." In his work for the Yeomanry and his characteristic British loyalty to his men, Diana found one great virtue to be proud of in Henry. She realized this as she heard the men discussing his efforts. For several days a growing feeling of pity for his misspent life had taken hold of her as she saw what he really could do when he willed.