“You seem interested, Cecil,” said he, as, with the uncerimoniousness of a trusted confidante, she glanced through the variations of the same text.  “Do you young ladies ever get up behind each other, and back each other’s bills?”

“You haven’t opened some, Bertie; and they are not all bills.”

“You can, if it amuses you,” hobbling across the room.  “Why, Cecil, my foot is almost sound again.  We’ll drive somewhere this afternoon, anyhow.”

“See what the doctor says.  Look here, Bertie, here’s a letter marked private, so I didn’t go on.”

“Where did you find that?  I never saw it.”  As he read, his brow grew dark, and he pondered several minutes; while Cecil, devoured with curiosity, and half-apprehensive of evil, remained silent.

“Will you get me a railway-guide, Cecil?  There’s one in the dining-room.”

She complied, most unwillingly.

“Are you really going, Bertie?”

“I must, to-night.”

“Why?” she more looked than asked.

He glanced through the letter again, and tossed it to her.  “You see I have no secrets from you, Cecil, though I should not care for any one else in the house to be acquainted with its contents.”

It was a confidential letter from his Colonel, saying, if absolutely necessary, he would give him more sick leave; but advising him, if possible, to return at once and settle some of his most urgent liabilities, which, having repeatedly come to his ears, he could no longer avoid taking notice of, unless he took steps to get the more serious ones shortly arranged.

“What will you do, Bertie?”

“I don’t know that anything but jumping into the Lachine Rapids would solve the difficulty,” returned he, lightly; “and even that must be deferred till the river is open.”

“How much is it?” impatiently.

“I dare say six hundred might soothe the chief’s sense of propriety, and give one a little breathing-time.  But I can’t get that, so the smash must come a little sooner than it otherwise would.”

“You tell me that, and tie my hands by refusing to let me help you.  Bertie, if you could just hold on till August, when I might draw any cheques I pleased—­”

“You dearest little angel!” interrupted Du Meresq, warmly; “what have I done that you should be so kind to me?  But all women are alike—­generous and true-hearted when a fellow is down in the world; and—­”

“Then you promise?  You will count on the money?” said Cecil, not much flattered at being supposed only to act up to the inevitable instincts of her sex.

“Good heavens, Cecil! no; I am not such an unprincipled brute as to rob you of a penny.  Under no possible circumstances could I touch—­”

“Under no possible circumstances?” leapt out before she could restrain her speech.  Had the meaning escaped him, the eloquent blood which rushed over neck and brow must have betrayed it completely.