“And of course he had it, though he could not afford it, and you paid?”

“Not to any great extent; oh, dear no, not to any great extent.”

“No, because you had not got ‘any great extent’ to spend; what you had, limited the amount, I suppose, nothing else.”

Mr. Gillat ignored this.  “Your father,” he said, rather uneasily, looking at her and then away again, “your father never had a very strong head, he—­you know—­he—­”

“Has taken to drink?” Julia asked baldly.  “As well as gambling he drinks now?”

“Oh, no,” Johnny said quickly, “not exactly, that is—­he does take more than he used, more than is good for him sometimes; not much is good for him, you know—­he does take more, it is no good pretending he does not.  But it was very dull for him; it did not suit him being here, I think; he used to get so low in spirits, what with his losses and feeling he was not wanted at home.  He thinks a great deal of your mother, and he could not but feel that she does not think much of him to send him away like that; it hurt him, although, as he said to me more than once, no doubt he deserved it.  It preyed on his mind; he seemed to want something to cheer him.”

Julia nodded; she could understand the effect well enough, though the causes at work might not be quite clear.  To her young judgment it seemed a little strange that her father should have never realised what a cumberer of the ground he was to his wife until she banished him “for his health.”  But so it evidently was, and after all she could believe it; like some others he had “made such a sinner of his conscience,” that he could believe, not only his own lie, but the legends woven about him.  They had all pretended things, he and they also; his position, too, had come gradually, he had got to accept it without thinking before it was an established fact.  But now the truth had been brought home to him—­more or less—­and he was miserable, and, according to the custom of his sort, set to making bad worse as soon as ever he discovered it.

“Why did he go home last week?” she aroused herself to ask.

“He thought it his duty,” was Johnny’s surprising answer.  “No, Mrs. Polkington did not send for him, she did not know he was coming; he decided for himself, he felt it would be better.”

Mr. Gillat rambled on vaguely, but Julia was not slow to guess that the principal reason was to be found in the state of Johnny’s finances.  She questioned him as to when he had moved into the back room, and, finding it to be not long before her father’s departure, guessed that discomfort, like the husks of the prodigal son, had awakened the thing dignified by the name of duty.

For a little she sat in silence, thinking matters over.  Johnny smoked hard at the stump of his cigar, mended the fire and fidgeted, looking sideways at her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he ventured at last; “things’ll look up, they will; when he’s back at Marbridge with your mother he’ll be all right.  She always had a great influence over him, she had, indeed.”