“Hardly an account, dear lady,—­merely a deposit large enough to entitle me to receive monthly notices that I have overdrawn it.”

“Why, then, of course, you have a cheque-book.  Horrible things, aren’t they?—­such a nuisance remembering to fill out those little stubs.  Of course, I forgot to bring mine with me—­I always do; and equally, of course, a vexatious debt turns up and finds me without an Occidental Bank cheque to my name.”

Musgrave was amused.  “That,” said he, “is easily remedied.  I will get you one; though even if—­Ah, well, what is the good of trying to teach you adorable women anything about business!  You shall have your indispensable blank form in three minutes.”

He returned in rather less than that time, with the cheque.  Anne was alone now.  She was gowned in some dull, soft, yellow stuff, and sat by a small, marble-topped table, twiddling a fountain-pen.

“You mustn’t sneer at my business methods, Rudolph,” she said, pouting a little as she filled out the cheque.  “It isn’t polite, sir, in the first place, and, in the second, I am really very methodical.  Of course, I am always losing my cheque-book, and drawing cheques and forgetting to enter them, and I usually put down the same deposit two or three times—­all women do that; but, otherwise, I am really very careful.  I manage all the accounts; I can’t expect Jack to do that, you know.”  Mrs. Charteris signed her name with a flourish, and nodded at the colonel wisely.  “Dear infant, but he is quite too horribly unpractical.  Do you know this bill has been due—­oh, for months—­and he forgot it entirely until this evening.  Fortunately, he can settle it to-morrow; those disagreeable publishers of his have telegraphed for him to come to New York at once, you know.  Otherwise—­dear, dear! but marrying a genius is absolutely ruinous to one’s credit, isn’t it, Rudolph?  The tradespeople will refuse to trust us soon.”

Involuntarily, Musgrave had seen the cheque.  It was for a considerable amount, and it was made out to John Charteris.

“Beyond doubt,” said Musgrave, in his soul, “Jack is colossal!  He is actually drawing on his wife for the necessary expenses for running away with another woman!”

The colonel sat down abruptly before the great, open fireplace, and stared hard at the pine-boughs which were heaped up in it.

“A penny,” said she, at length.

He glanced up with a smile.  “My dear madam, it would be robbery!  For a penny, you may read of the subject of my thoughts in any of the yellow journals, only far more vividly set forth, and obtain a variety of more or less savory additions, to boot.  I was thinking of the Lethbury case, and wondering how we could have been so long deceived by the man.”

“Ah, poor Mrs. Lethbury!” Anne sighed, “I am very sorry for her, Rudolph; she was a good woman, and was always interested in charitable work.”