Richard's lids fell. He took a paper-knife from the table he leaned against, and began to play with it nervously. He had become a haggard, coarsened, weakened copy of himself; his hair hung in damp elf-locks over his forehead; his lips were pale and dry; he bit them to moisten them. "The money," said Tredennis, "was mine. It was a foolish investment, perhaps; but the money--was mine." "Yours!" said Bertha. "You invested in the Westoria lands!" She put her hand in its old place on the mantel, and a strange laugh fell from her lips. "Then I have been lobbying for you, too," she said. "I--wish I had been more successful." Richard put his hand up, and pushed back the damp, falling locks of hair from his forehead restlessly. "_I_ made the investment," he said, "and I am the person to blame, as usual; but you would have believed in it yourself." "Yes," she answered; "I should have believed in it, I dare say. It has been easy to make me believe, but I think I should also have believed in a few other things,--in the possibility of their being honor and good faith"-- She paused an instant, and then began again. "You told me once that you had never regarded me seriously. I think that has been the difficulty--and perhaps it was my fault. It will not be necessary to use me any more, and I dare say you will let me go away for a while after a week or so. I think it would be better." She left her place to cross the room to the door. On her way there she paused before Colonel Tredennis. "I beg your pardon," she said, and went on. At the door she stopped again one moment, fronting them both, her head held erect, her eyes large and bright. "When Senator Blundel left me," she said, "he told me to go to my children. If you will excuse me, I will go." And she made a stately little bow, and left them. CHAPTER XXXVI. The great social event of the following week was to be the ball given yearly for the benefit of a certain popular and fashionable charity. There was no charity so fashionable, and consequently no ball so well attended; everybody was more or less interested; everybody of importance appeared at it, showing themselves for a few moments at least. Even Mrs. Merriam, who counted among the privileges earned by a long and unswervingly faithful social career, the one of immunity from all ordinary society duties, found herself drawn into the maelstrom, and enrolled on the list of patronesses. "You may do all the work, my dear," she said to Mrs. Sylvestre, "and I will appropriate the credit."