John Derringham felt the blood tingling in his ears.  There was nothing to take exception to in what she had said, but it hurt him awfully.

“Very well,” he answered wearily, and closed his eyes for a moment.  “If you are satisfied, that is all that need be said.  As things go on, and I reach where I mean to get, I dare say to spend money to do the thing beautifully will please you as much as it will gratify me.  I will give you what I can of the honors and glories—­so shall we consider our bargain equal?”

This was not lover-like, and Mrs. Cricklander knew it, but it was better to have got it all over.  She was well aware that the “honors and glories” would compensate her for the outlay of her dollars, but her red mouth shut with a snap as she registered a thought.

“When I come back it may amuse me to make him really in love with me.”  Then, watching carefully, she saw that some cloud of jar and disillusion had settled upon her fiance’s face.  So with her masterly skill she tried to banish it, talking intelligently upon the political situation and his prospects.  It looked certain that the Government would not last beyond the session—­and then what would happen?

Mr. Hanbury-Green had given her a very clear forecast of what the other side meant to do, but this she did not impart to John Derringham.

She made one really stupid mistake as she got up to leave the room.

“If you want a few thousands now, John,” she said, as she bent to lightly salute his cheek, “do let me know and I will send them to your bank.  They may be useful for the wedding.”

A dull flush mounted to the roots of his hair, and then left him very pale.

He took her hand and kissed it with icy homage.

“Thank you, no—­” he said.  “You are far too good.  I will not take anything from you until the bargain is completed.”

Then their eyes met and in his there was a flash of steel.

And when she had gone from the room he lay and quivered, a sense of hideous humiliation flooding his being.

The following day she came in the morning.  She looked girlish in her short tennis frock and was rippling with smiles.  She sat on the bed and kissed him—­and then slipped her hand into his.

“John, darling,” she said sweetly.  “People will begin to talk if I stay here at Wendover now that you are getting better—­and you would hate that as much as I—­so I have settled to go to Carlsbad with Lady Maulevrier—­just for three weeks.  By that time my splendid John will be himself again and we can settle about our wedding—­” then she bent and kissed him once more before he could speak.  “Arabella is going to get her mother to come down,” she went on, “and you will be safe here with these devoted old ladies and your Brome who is plainly in love with you, poor thing!” and she laughed gayly.  “Say you think it is best, too, John, dearest?”

“Whatever you wish,” he answered with some sudden quick sense of relief.  “I know I am an awful bore lying here, and I shall not be able to crawl to a sofa even for another week, these doctors say.”