“I came down in the motor to get a short talk on business with Miss Dexter,” he explained, “but I am sorry to disturb a more amusing conversation.”

Edmund, of course, after that left them alone, and walked off by himself.

Molly looked all her astonishment at Adela’s “Tim.”

“Miss Dexter,” he said very slowly, “I was given to understand when you came to us in the winter that you were a young lady wanting a home and some amusement in London.  I thought it kindly in my wife to wish to have you with her, and, as she is young and a good deal alone” (Molly looked the other way at this assertion), “I thought it would be for the advantage of both.  But I had no notion that there was any question of payment in the case, and I must now ask you to tell me exactly what you have paid to Mrs. Delaport Green since first you made her acquaintance.”

Molly was not entirely astonished at discovering that Adela’s husband had known nothing whatever of Adela’s financial arrangements with herself.  But she was so angry at this proof of what she had up to now only faintly suspected, that it was not very difficult to make her tell all that she knew of her share in Adela’s expenses, only that knowledge proved to be of a very vague kind.  Molly had kept no accounts, and had the vaguest notion of what her bills included.  One thing she intended to conceal (but Mr. Delaport Green managed to make her confide even that) was the fact that she had given L100 to his wife’s dressmaker.  He made no comment of any sort, only firmly and quietly insisted on Molly giving him all the items she could.  Then he got up and said—­

“Good-bye for the present; I want to get back in time for lunch.”

And he walked away, making one or two notes in a little book he held in his hand as to the cheque that Molly should find waiting for her next day.

Molly, left alone on the bench, did not at the first moment dwell on the thought of how far this talk with her host would affect her own plans.  She could only think of the man himself.  She had been for many weeks in his house, and had never done more than “exchange the weather” with him, or occasionally suffer gladly the little jokes and puns to which he was addicted.  She had written to Miss Carew that his attitude towards Adela and herself was that of a busy man towards his nursery.  Since that how little she had thought about him!  And now she felt the strength in him, not weakened, but lit up with a kind of pathos.  He might have been a true friend to any man or woman.  He was really fond of Adela Delaport Green, and that position in itself was tragic enough.  It was plain to Molly, although nothing had been breathed on the subject that morning, that Tim would not find it hard to forgive his Adela.  Adela would pass almost scot-free from well-merited punishment; and yet her husband was strong enough to have punished effectively where he deemed it necessary.  Molly was puzzled because she was without a clue to