fresh-coloured man that he was in general—­and was off.  I never saw him again till after his death.  First came the trial, and Dick Boyce got three months’ imprisonment, on a minor count, while several others of the precious lot he was mixed up with came in for penal servitude.  There was some technical flaw in the evidence with regard to him, and the clever lawyers they put on made the most of it; but we all thought, and society thought, that Dick was morally as bad as any of them.  Then the papers got hold of the gambling debts and the woman.  She made a disturbance at his club, I believe, during the trial, while he was out on bail—­anyway it all came out.  Two or three other people were implicated in the gambling business—­men of good family.  Altogether it was one of the biggest scandals I remember in my time.”

The old man paused, the long frowning face sternly set.  Aldous gazed at him in silence.  It was certainly pretty bad—­worse than he had thought.

“And the wife and child?” he said presently.

“Oh, poor things!”—­said Lord Maxwell, forgetting everything for the moment but his story—­“when Boyce’s imprisonment was up they disappeared with him.  His constituents held indignation meetings, of course.  He gave up his seat, and his father allowed him a small fixed income—­she had besides some little money of her own—­which was secured him afterwards, I believe, on the estate during his brother’s lifetime.  Some of her people would have gladly persuaded her to leave him, for his behaviour towards her had been particularly odious,—­and they were afraid, too, I think, that he might come to worse grief yet and make her life unbearable.  But she wouldn’t.  And she would have no sympathy and no talk.  I never saw her after the first year of their marriage, when she was a most radiant and beautiful creature.  But, by all accounts of her behaviour at the time, she must be a remarkable woman.  One of her family told me that she broke with all of them.  She would know nobody who would not know him.  Nor would she take money, though they were wretchedly poor; and Dick Boyce was not squeamish.  She went off to little lodgings in the country or abroad with him without a word.  At the same time, it was plain that her life was withered.  She could make one great effort; but, according to my informant, she had no energy left for anything else—­not even to take interest in her little girl—­”

Aldous made a movement.

“Suppose we talk about her?” he said rather shortly.

Lord Maxwell started and recollected himself.  After a pause he said, looking down under his spectacles at his grandson with an expression in which discomfort strove with humour—­