Lord Hartledon came from the window and sat down near his wife, his elbow on the table.  All he could do now was to make the best of it, and explain as near to the truth as he could.

“Maude, you must not expect full confidence on this subject, for I cannot give it you.  When I found I had reason to believe that some—­some legal proceedings were about to be instituted against me, just at the first intimation of the trouble, I thought it must emanate from Dr. Ashton.  You took up the same idea yourself, and I did not contradict it, simply because I could not tell you the real truth—­”

“Yes,” she interrupted.  “It was the night that stranger called at our house, when you and Mr. Carr were closeted with him so long.”

He could not deny it; but he had been thankful that she should forget the stranger and his visit.  Maude waited.

“Then it was an action, but not brought by the Ashtons?” she resumed, finding he did not speak.  “Mamma remarked that you were just the one to propose to half-a-dozen girls.”

“It was not an action at all of that description; and I never proposed to any girl except Miss Ashton,” he returned, nettled at the remark.

“Is it over?”

“Not quite;” and there was some hesitation in his tone.  “Carr is settling it for me.  I trust, Maude, you will never hear of it again—­that it will never trouble you.”

She sat looking at him with her wistful eyes.

“Won’t you tell me its nature?”

“I cannot tell you, Maude, believe me.  I am as candid with you as it is possible to be; but there are some things best—­best not spoken of.  Maude,” he repeated, rising impulsively and taking both her hands in his, “do you wish to earn my love—­my everlasting gratitude?  Then you may do it by nevermore alluding to this.”

It was a mistaken request; an altogether unwise emotion.  Better that he had remained at the window, and drawled out a nonchalant denial.  But he was apt to be as earnestly genuine on the surface as he was in reality.  It set Lady Hartledon wondering; and she resolved to “bide her time.”

“As you please, of course, Val.  But why should it agitate you?”

“Many a little thing seems to agitate me now,” he answered.  “I have not felt well of late; perhaps that’s the reason.”

“I think you might have satisfied me a little better.  I expect it is some enormous debt risen up against you.”

Better she should think so!  “I shall tide it over,” he said aloud.  “But indeed, Maude, I cannot bear for you delicate women to be brought into contact with these things; they are fit for us only.  Think no more about it, and rely on me to keep trouble from you if it can be kept.  Where’s Bob?  He is here, I suppose?”

“Bob’s in his room.  He is going into a way, I think.  When he wrote and asked me if I would allow him to come here for a little change, the medical men saying he must have it, mamma sent a refusal by return of post; she had had enough of Bob, she said, when he was here before.  But I quietly wrote a note myself, and Bob came.  He looked ill, and gets worse instead of better.”