"Certainly, though I should not have imagined you would care to sit down in my husband's house."

"If I had not known Mrs. Mortomley to be an exceptional woman, I should not have entered her husband's house at all."

"Mrs. Mortomley is so exceptional a woman that she desires no compliments from Mr. Werner," was the reply.

He smiled again and said,

"And I in good faith am in no mood to pay compliments to any one--not even to you, whom I want to do me a favour."

"Recalling the past, I cannot help remarking that diffidence does not appear to be one of your strongest characteristics."

"Recalling the past, you will do me this kindness for the sake of my wife."

Dolly did not answer. She wanted to understand what this favour might be before she committed herself.

"I cannot sit," he said, "unless you are seated also, and I am tired mentally and bodily. I assure you when I have told you all I have come to tell, you will not regret having extended to me courtesy as well as attention."

He placed a chair for her, and then took one himself.

"I have come to speak to you about a very serious matter--" he began.

"If it is anything concerning Archie do not go on," she interrupted entreatingly. "I have been so happy this morning, and I cannot bear to hear ill news now--I cannot!" she repeated passionately.

"Strange as it may appear to you," he said calmly, "there are other persons in England than Mr. and Mrs. Mortomley. It is a singular fact, but true nevertheless, that they are only two souls out of a population of thirty millions. I am bringing no bad news to you about your husband or his affairs; my news is bad for Leonora."

"But she is not ill," said Dolly quickly, "for I had a letter from her this morning."

"No; she is quite well, and the children are well, and I am well. There is an exhaustive budget of the state of the family health. But still what I have to say does effect Leonora. You remember your friend, Kleinwort, Mrs. Mortomley?"

"I once saw a detestable little German called Kleinwort," she said.

"And you remember his--so dear--Forde?"

"I remember him also."

"Well, a week ago that so dear Forde found that his devoted friend, under a pretence of ill-health and paying a visit to Hastings, had taken French leave of this country and got ten days' start of any one who might feel inclined to follow. He was not able to secure much booty in his retreat; but I fancy, all told, he has taken seven or eight thousand pounds with him, and he has let the General Chemical Company in for an amount which seems simply fabulous.

"So far Kleinwort, now for myself. A few years ago no man in London need have desired to be in a better position than that I occupied. I was healthy, wealthy, and, as I thought, wise; I was doing a safe trade, I had a good connection; I was as honest as City people have any right to be, and--But why do I talk of this? I am not reciting my own biography.

"Well, the crash of 1866 came. In that crash most people lost a pot of money. Richard Halling did (and your husband's estate has since suffered for it), and I did also. If I had stopped then I could not have paid a shilling in the pound; but no one knew this, my credit was good and my business capacity highly esteemed. So I went on, and tried my best to regain the standing I alone knew I had lost."

A carafe of water stood on a table close to where he sat. He poured out a glass and drank eagerly ere he proceeded.

"Not to weary you with details, in an evil hour my path crossed that of Forde. He wanted to build up the standing of the General Chemical Company; I wanted to ensure the stability of my own.

"Mutually we lied to each other; mutually we deceived each other. I thought him a capable scoundrel; he thought me a grasping millionaire.

The day came when I understood thoroughly he had no genius whatever, even for blackguardism, but was simply a man to whom his situation was so important that he would have sacrificed his first-born to retain his post; a man who would have been honest enough had no temptation been presented to him; a man who was not possessed of sufficient moral courage to be either a saint or a sinner, who was always halting between two opinions, and whilst treading the flowery paths leading to perdition, cast regretful glances back to the dusty roads and stony highways traversed by successful virtue, whilst I--"

He paused and then went on.

"Ever since 1866 I have been a mere adventurer, building up my credit upon one rotten foundation after another, believing foolishly it may be and yet sincerely the turn would come some day, and that I should eventually be able to retrieve all--pay all."

"And I still believe," he proceeded after a moment's pause, "that I could have got out safe, had Swanland, for the sake of advertising himself, not advertised your husband's failure. Had I been able to carry out my plans, the General Chemical Company and I had parted company months ago. I reckoned on being able to bribe Forde to help me to do this. He rose to the bait, but he had not power to fulfil his part of the bargain. There was an antagonistic influence at work, and we never traced it to its source until a few days since. Then we found that a new director had been quietly looking into your affair, and as a natural consequence into the affairs of other customers. He discovered how bills had been manipulated and accounts cooked, how one security had been made to do duty for six, and much more to the same effect. It was all clumsy botched work, but either it had really deceived the other directors or they pretended it had, which comes to about the same thing.

However, to cut the story short, Kleinwort, who foresaw the turn affairs would take, has gone, and I, who did not foresee, must go also."

"Go where?" Dolly inquired.

"I am uncertain," he answered; "but it is useless my remaining to face the consequences of my own acts."

"But do you mean to say," asked Mrs. Mortomley, "that you intend to go away and never return to England?"

"That is precisely my meaning."

"And what will Leonora say?"

"She will be very much shocked at first, I do not doubt," was the reply; "but eventually, I hope, she will understand I took the best course possible under the circumstances, and that brings me to the favour I want you to do me. I want you to take charge of this parcel, and give it to my wife at the end of six months. Give it to her when she is alone, and do not mention in the meantime to any one that you have seen me, or that a packet from me is in your possession. You understand what I mean?"

"I think so," said Dolly. "There is money in the packet, and--"

"You are shrewder than I thought," he remarked. "There is money in that parcel. You understand now why I ask you to take charge of it? Have you any objection to do so?"

"None whatever," was the quick reply.

"And if questions are asked?"

"I know nothing," she answered.

"You will be silent to Leonora?"

"Yes. I understand what you want, and I will do it. Tell me one thing, however. Some day Leonora will join you?"

"I have faith that it is not impossible," he said, rising as he spoke.

"Good-bye, Mrs. Mortomley. God bless you." And without thought he put out his hand.

Then Dolly drew back, flushing crimson. "I do this for your wife, Mr.

Werner," she said, "not for you. I cannot forget."

"You can forgive though, I hope," he pleaded. "Mrs. Mortomley, I wish before we part you would say, 'I forgive you, and I hope God will.' It is not a long sentence."

"It is a hard one," she answered; "so hard that I cannot say it."

"For my wife's sake?"

"One cannot forgive for the sake of a third person, however dear."

"Do you remember how you wished, or said you should wish, but for her, that I might be beggared and ruined--beggared more completely, ruined more utterly than you had been? The words have never died out of my memory."

"Did I say so?" Dolly asked, a little shocked, as people are sometimes apt to be, at the sound of their own hot words repeated in cold blood.

"I have no doubt," she went on, "that I meant every syllable at the time, but I ought not to have meant it--I am sure I should not wish my worst enemy to pass through all we have been compelled to endure."