“Was that Gilder who came?” he asked, and, when she nodded: “The brute! Why didn’t you send for me?”
He saw her face, and, quickly:
“Is anything wrong, Leslie?”
“Yes,” she said, and marvelled herself at the evenness of her tone. “He came about some money that was in your care--a part of the estate of Lady Chelford.”
She saw from the quick change in his face that all that Gilder had said was true; but then, she had never doubted that.
“Does Dick know?” she asked.
“Yes, he knows. I wonder what you think of me?” he asked huskily.
She shook her head.
“Does it matter, Arthur, what I think? What will happen if the money isn’t found?”
“I’ve got a week yet,” he said. “How did he come to know?”
“Can you get the money?”
It was a useless question.
“Dick said he will do his best.”
“Nothing can be done with Harry, I suppose?” she asked. “No, that’s too impossible to think about. What will happen when the truth comes out?”
He drew a deep breath.
“I don’t know; imprisonment, I suppose. It’s horribly rough on you, Leslie. I’ve said that before, but words mean very little, and I am at the end of words.”
His voice broke for a second, but he caught hold of his weakness in time, and, seeing the fight he was making, there came a look of admiration to her eyes.
“You poor soul!” she said softly.
Another long pause.
“What did Gilder want--just to tell you that?”
“Partly that.”
“And to make you an offer?” There was just a hint of eagerness in his tone; the drowning man was gripping hard on a straw. It made her heart ache to think that, even at that moment, when he knew he deserved nothing but her loathing, he could contemplate yet another sacrifice upon her part without protest.
“He made me an offer--yes,” she said. “And I don’t know what I shall do. I’m going to see Dick.”
“Is that necessary?” he asked anxiously.
She nodded.
“I’m going to see Dick,” she said. “I will ’phone him.”
She moved to the instrument and lifted the receiver from the hook, when he caught her arm.
“I shouldn’t be guided--too much by Dick,” he said breathlessly. “Gilder’s a brute, but you might be happier with him than with Harry.”
She shook off his arm and gave a number. The servant who replied told her that Dick was out, that he had gone to London that afternoon, and would not be back until late at night. She hung up the instrument, went back to the drawing-room, and took up the paper on which Gilder had written his address.
“You have six days, Arthur,” she said. “I have less than twenty-four hours. I don’t know whose case is the worse, but I rather fancy it is mine.”
He heard her go up to her room, and after a while followed and tried the door. It was locked.
“Leslie!” he called anxiously, but she did not hear him.
With her face buried in the pillow, she was saying good-bye to Dick Alford, and her heart was breaking.
