“Well, Val, I have told the doctor I shall look into matters, and I hope to do it efficiently, for Anne’s sake.  I suppose the best thing will be to try and get you an appointment again.”

“Oh, Edward, if you would!  And you know you have the ear of the ministry.”

“I dare say it can be managed.  But this will be of little use if you are still to remain an embarrassed man.  I hear you were afraid of arrest in London.”

“Who told you that?”

“Dawkes.”

“Dawkes!  Then, Edward—­” Val Elster stopped.  In his vexation, he was about to retaliate on Captain Dawkes by a little revelation on the score of his affairs, certain things that might not have redounded to that gallant officer’s credit.  But he arrested the words in time:  he was of a kindly nature, not fond of returning ill for ill.  With all his follies, Val Elster could not remember to have committed an evil act in all his life, save one.  And that one he had still the pleasure of paying for pretty deeply.

“Dawkes knows nothing of my affairs except from hearsay, Edward.  I was once intimate with the man; but he served me a shabby trick, and that ended the friendship.  I don’t like him.”

“I dare say what he said was not true,” said Lord Hartledon kindly.  “You might as well make a confidant of me.  However, I have not time to talk to-day.  We will go into the matter, Val, after Monday, when this race has come off, and see what arrangement can be made for you.  There’s only one thing bothers me.”

“What’s that?”

“The danger that it may be a wasted arrangement.  If you are only set up on your legs to come down again, as you have before, it will be so much waste of time and money; so much loss, to me, of temper.  Don’t you see, Val?”

Percival Elster stopped in his walk, and withdrew his arm from his brother’s; his face and voice full of emotion.

“Edward, I have learnt a lesson.  What it has cost me I hardly yet know:  but it is learnt.  On my sacred word of honour, in the solemn presence of Heaven, I assert it, that I will never put my hand to another bill, whatever may be the temptation.  I have overcome, in this respect at least, my sin.”

“Your sin?”

“My nature’s great sin; the besetting sin that has clung to me through life; the unfortunate sin that is my bane to this hour—­cowardly irresolution.”

“All right, Val; I see you mean well now.  We’ll talk of these matters next week.  Instead of Elster’s Folly, let it become Elster’s Wisdom.”

Lord Hartledon wrung his brother’s hand and turned away.  His eyes fell on Miss Ashton, and he went straight up to her.  Putting the young lady’s arm within his own, without word or ceremony, he took her off to a distance:  and old Lady Kirton’s skirts went round in a dance as she saw it.

“I am about to take him in hand, Anne, and set him going again:  I have promised Dr. Ashton.  We must get him a snug berth; one that even the doctor won’t object to, and set him straight in other matters.  If he has mortgaged his patrimony, it shall be redeemed.  And, Anne, I think—­I do think—­he may be trusted to keep straight for the future.”