"My dear fellow, I am sure I beg your pardon. My cousin certainly gave her family to understand that she had paid your debts. No doubt this was not the case. We all know that women are somewhat given to exaggeration and inaccuracy. Think no more of it." Ronnie sat down moodily in his chair. "It was unlike Helen," he said, "and it was a lie. I shall find out with whom it originated. But you are a good fellow to take my word about it at once. I am obliged to you, Treherne." "Don't mention it, West. Men rarely lie to one another. On the other hand women rarely speak the truth. What will my good cousin say to one hundred and fifty pounds being paid for a 'cello?" "It will be no business of hers," said Ronnie, angrily. "I can do as I choose with my own earnings." "I doubt it," smiled Aubrey Treherne. "The man who married my cousin Helen, was bound to surrender his independence and creep under her thumb. I am grateful to you for having saved me from that fate. As no doubt she has told you, she refused me shortly before she accepted you." Ronald's start of surprise proved at once to Aubrey his complete ignorance of the whole matter. "I had no idea you were ever in love with my wife," he said. "Nor was I, my dear fellow," sneered Aubrey Treherne. "Others, besides yourself, were after your wife's money." A sense of impotence seized Ronald, in nightmare grip. Indignant and furious, he yet felt absolutely unable to contradict or to explain. Suddenly he seemed to hear Helen's voice saying earnestly: "My cousin Aubrey is not a good man, Ronnie; he is not a man you should trust." This vivid remembrance of Helen, brought him to his senses. "I prefer not to discuss my wife," he said, with quiet dignity; "nor my relations with her. Let us talk of something else." "By all means, my dear fellow," replied Aubrey. "You must pardon the indiscretion of cousinly interest. Tell me of your new book. Have you settled upon a title?" But the instinct of authorship now shielded Ronnie. "I never talk of my books, excepting to Helen, until they are finished," he said. "Quite right," agreed Aubrey, cordially. "But you might tell me why this one took you to Central Africa. Is it a book of travels?" "No; it is a love-story. But the scene is laid in wild places--ah, such places! One cannot possibly understand, until one gets there and does it, what it is like to leave civilisation behind, and crawl into long grass thirteen feet high!" "It sounds weirdly fascinating," remarked Aubrey. "So unusual a setting, must mean a remarkable plot." "It is the strongest thing I have done yet," said Ronnie, with enthusiasm.