‘Can’t you get more money on your house in town?’

’No; I have tried Levi and Jacobs, and they won’t advance any more without better security.’

’Your mother; surely she would help you, if you were to make up a good story.’

’No; I ran down to see her the other day, and she had taken offence because she chose to think I had neglected her, and was as obstinate as an old mule.  I believe she is getting stingy, too, and says she will keep her money as long as she lives, and then I may do what I like with it.’

‘What is she worth?’

’Well, I should say by this time, she must have as good as six or seven hundred a-year.  She hasn’t lived up to her income, and what she has doled out to me now and then, hasn’t touched the principal.  She must have from fifteen to twenty thousand pounds one way and another.’

’Ask her to come and visit you; take her about and make much of her, and then seize upon her in an unwary moment.  Borrow the money, and say you will pay it back, which you know, you will be able to do, if you have any luck.’

’That’s a bright idea.  The old soul has always been hankering to come to London.  Give me a pen and ink directly.  Let me see; I know how she likes me to begin.  “Dear and honoured mother.”  Faugh! shall we go on in the ancient style?  “I hope this will find you well, as it leaves me at present.”  I only wish it would find her—­well—­I think that will do.  I have told her that Netta and I will be delighted to see her, etc., etc.  And Netta hates her, too.’

’By the way, Jenkins, could not Mrs Howel Jenkins get Dancy to give in about that money?  She is a prime favourite.’

’Mrs Jenkins knows nothing of my money transactions, and certainly would be the last person I should wish to interfere in such a matter.  Let us go and post this letter, and then I want to go to Tattersalls.  Will you dine with me at the club at six? and afterwards we will keep our appointment with Dancy and Lord Dupe; we may make something of the latter, if we can’t of the former.’

It was nearly two o’clock in the morning when Howel reached his home.  His little girl was ill in the measles, and Netta, feeling anxious about her, had been sitting up with her.  When Howel entered the bedroom in which the mother and child were, he began to talk in a loud voice.

‘Why on earth don’t you go to bed, Netta?’

Netta put her finger on her lips, and pointed to the little bed in which her child was sleeping, then hurried into the next room, a kind of nursery and play-room, and sent the maid, who was sitting there, into the bedroom.  Howel followed her; Netta saw that he had been drinking, and was greatly excited; he never was absolutely intoxicated, but he constantly drank too much.

‘Why do you sit up I say, Netta?’

‘Because Minette is so feverish; I did not like to leave her.’

The child had been called Minette by a French bonne, and they had all somehow adopted it as a name; her real name was Victoria.