“You are a dutiful wife, my dear,” he said.

She winced sharply, and bent her head over her own letters.

“I do my best,” she said, after a moment.

“I am sure of it,” he responded dryly.

He paused at the door as if he expected her to say more.  More came, somewhat breathlessly, and not upon the same subject.

Nina glanced up with sudden resolution.

“Hereford,” she said, “can you let me have some money?”

She spoke with the rapidity of nervousness.  She saw his hand leave the door.  His face remained quite unmoved.

“For yourself?” he asked.

Considering the amount of the settlement he had made upon her, the question was absurd.  Nina smiled faintly.

“No,” she said, “not for myself.”

He took a cheque-book from his pocket and walked to a writing-table.

“How much do you want?” he asked.

She hesitated, and he looked round at her.

“I—­I only want to borrow it,” she said haltingly.  “It is rather a big sum.”

“How much?” he repeated.

“Five thousand pounds,” she answered, in a low voice.

He continued to look at her for several seconds.  Finally he turned and shut up his cheque-book with a snap.

“The money will be placed to your credit to-morrow,” he said.  “But though a financier, I am not a money-lender.  Please understand that!  And let your family understand it, too.”

And, rising, he walked straight from the room.

No further reference was made to the matter on either side.  Nina’s pride or her courage shrank from any expression of gratitude.

In the afternoon with intense thankfulness she travelled southward. 
Never were London smoke and dust more welcome.

They went straight to Wingarde’s great house in Crofton Square.  Dinner was served immediately upon their arrival.

“I must ask you to excuse me,” Wingarde said, directly dessert was placed upon the table.  “I have to go out—­on business.  In case I don’t see you again, good-night!”

He was on his feet as he spoke.  In her surprise Nina started up also.

“At this hour!” she exclaimed.  “Why, it is nearly eleven!”

“At this hour,” he grimly responded, “you will be able to dispense with my society no doubt.”

His tone silenced her.  Yet, as he turned to go, she looked after him with mute questioning in her eyes.  She had a feeling that he was keeping something from her, and—­perhaps it was merely the natural result of womanly curiosity baffled—­she was vaguely hurt that he did not see fit to tell her whither his business was taking him.

A few words would have sufficed; but he had not chosen to utter them, and her pride was sufficient to suppress any display of interest in his affairs.  She would not court the snub that she felt convinced he would not hesitate to administer.