Meanwhile Lady Caroline was all and more than all Mr. Wilkins had imagined, and had received his speeches, worked in skillfully between the courses, graciously; Mrs. Fisher was the exact old lady he had been hoping to come across all his professional life; and Lotty and not only immensely improved, but was obviously au mieux—­Mr. Wilkins knew what was necessary in French—­with Lady Caroline.  He had been much tormented during the day by the thought of how he had stood conversing with Lady Caroline forgetful of his not being dressed, and had at last written her a note most deeply apologizing, and beseeching her to overlook his amazing, his incomprehensible obliviousness, to which she had replied in pencil on the back of the envelop, “Don’t worry.”  And he had obeyed her commands, and had put it from him.  The result was he was now in great contentment.  Before going to sleep that night he pinched his wife’s ear.  She was amazed.  These endearments . . .

What is more, the morning brought no relapse in Mr. Wilkins, and he kept up to his high level through out the day, in spite of its being the first day of the second week, and therefore pay day.

It being pay day precipitated Lotty’s confession, which she had, when it came to the point, been inclined to put off a little longer.  She was not afraid, she dared anything, but Mellersh was in such an admirable humour—­why risk clouding it just yet?  When, however, soon after breakfast Costanza appeared with a pile of very dirty little bits of paper covered with sums in pencil, and having knocked at Mrs. Fisher’s door and been sent away, and at Lady Caroline’s door and been sent away, and at Rose’s door and had no answer because Rose had gone out, she waylaid Lotty, who was showing Mellersh over the house, and pointed to the bits of paper and talked very rapidly and loud, and shrugged her shoulders a great deal, and kept on pointing at the bits of paper, Lotty remembered that a week had passed without anybody paying anything to anyone, and that the moment had come to settle up.

“Does this good lady want something?” inquired Mr. Wilkins mellifluously.

“Money,” said Lotty.

“Money?”

“It’s the housekeeping bills.”

“Well, you have nothing to do with those,” said Mr. Wilkins serenely.

“Oh yes, I have—­”

And the confession was precipitated.

It was wonderful how Mellersh took it.  One would have imagined that his sole idea about the nest-egg had always been that it should be lavished on just this.  He did not, as he would have done at home, cross-examine her; he accepted everything as it came pouring out, about her fibs and all, and when she had finished and said, “You have every right to be angry, I think, but I hope you won’t be and will forgive me instead,” he merely asked, “What can be more beneficial than such a holiday?”

Whereupon she put her arm through his and held it tight and said, “Oh, Mellersh, you really are too sweet!”—­her face red with pride in him.