Mr. Quest winced visibly beneath this bitter satire, which his wife uttered with a smile of infantile innocence playing upon her face, but he made no reply.  She knew too much.  Only in his heart he wondered what fate she would mete out to him if ever she got possession of the whole truth, and the thought made him tremble.  It seemed to him that the owner of that baby face could be terribly merciless in her vengeance, and that those soft white hands would close round the throat of a man she hated and utterly destroy him.  Now, if never before, he realised that between him and this woman there must be enmity and a struggle to the death; and yet strangely enough he still loved her!

Mr. Quest reached London about three o’clock, and his first act was to drive to Cossey and Son’s, where he was informed that old Mr. Cossey was much better, and having heard that he was coming to town had sent to say that he particularly wished to see him, especially about the Honham Castle estates.  Accordingly Mr. Quest drove on to the old gentleman’s mansion in Grosvenor Street, where he asked for Mr. Edward Cossey.  The footman said that Mr. Edward was upstairs, and showed him to a study while he went to tell him of the arrival of his visitor.  Mr. Quest glanced round the luxuriously-furnished room, which he saw was occupied by Edward himself, for some letters directed in his handwriting lay upon the desk, and a velveteen lounging coat that Mr. Quest recognised as belonging to him was hanging over the back of a chair.  Mr. Quest’s eye wandering over this coat, was presently caught by the corner of a torn flap of an envelope which projected from one of the pockets.  It was of a peculiar bluish tinge, in fact of a hue much affected by his wife.  Listening for a moment to hear if anybody was coming, he stepped to the coat and extracted the letter.  It was in his wife’s handwriting, so he took the liberty of hastily transferring it to his own pocket.

In another minute Edward Cossey entered, and the two men shook hands.

“How do you do, Quest?” said Edward.  “I think that the old man is going to pull through this bout.  He is helpless but keen as a knife, and has all the important matters from the bank referred to him.  I believe that he will last a year yet, but he will scarcely allow me out of his sight.  He preaches away about business the whole day long and says that he wants to communicate the fruits of his experience to me before it is too late.  He wishes to see you, so if you will you had better come up.”

Accordingly they went upstairs to a large and luxurious bedroom on the first floor, where the stricken man lay upon a patent couch.

When Mr. Quest and Edward Cossey entered, a lady, old Mr. Cossey’s eldest daughter, put down a paper out of which she had been reading the money article aloud, and, rising, informed her father that Mr. Quest had come.