She went over to him and laid her hand tremulously on his shoulder, and looked down at him with piteous, pleading eyes. No Circassian slave, afraid of bowstring and sack, could have entreated her master's clemency with deeper self-abasement. Even Conrad Winstanley's hard nature was touched by the piteousness of her look and tone. He took the hand gently and raised it to his lips. "I don't mean to be cruel, Pamela," he said. "I only want you to face the truth, and to understand your future position. It is your own money you are squandering, and you have a right to waste it, if it pleases you to do so. But it is a little hard for a man who has laboured and schemed for a given result, suddenly to find himself out in his calculations by so much as thirteen hundred and sixty-four pounds. Let us say no more about it, my dear. Here is the bill, and it must be paid. We have only to consider the items, and see if the prices are reasonable." And then the Captain, with bent brow and serious aspect, began to read the lengthy record of an English lady's folly. Most of the items he passed over in silence, or with only a sigh, keeping his wife by his side, looking over his shoulder. "Point out anything that is wrong," he said; but as yet Mrs. Winstanley had found no error in the bill. Sometimes there came an item which moved the Captain to speech. "A dinner-dress, _pain brule_ brocade, mixed _poult de soie_, _manteau de cour_, lined ivory satin, trimmed with hand-worked embroidery of wild flowers on Brussels net, sixty-three pounds." "What in the name of all that's reasonable is _pain brule?_" asked the Captain impatiently. "It's the colour, Conrad. One of those delicate tertiaries that have been so much worn lately." "Sixty guineas for a dinner-dress! That's rather stiff. Do you know that a suit of dress-clothes costs me nine pounds, and lasts almost as many years?" "My dear Conrad, for a man it is so different. No one looks at your clothes. That dress was for Lady Ellangowan's dinner. You made me very happy that night, for you told me I was the best-dressed woman in the room." "I should not have been very happy myself if I had known the cost of your gown," answered the Captain grimly. "Fifteen guineas for a Honiton _fichu!_" he cried presently. "What in mercy's name is a _fichu?_ It sounds like a sneeze." "It is a little half-handkerchief that I wear to brighten a dark silk dress when we dine alone, Conrad. You know you have always said that lace harmonises a woman's dress, and gives a softness to the complexion and contour." "I shall be very careful what I say in future," muttered the Captain, as he went on with the bill. "French cambric _peignoir_, trimmed real Valenciennes, turquoise ribbon, nineteen guineas," he read presently. "Surely you would never give twenty pounds for a gown you wear when you are having your hair dressed?"