that she could not stifle, nor even conceal the misery which this would occasion her.  As long as he stood well before the world she would be well able to assume indifference.  But were he to be precipitated into some bottomless misfortunes then she could only throw herself after him.  She could see him marry, and smile,—­and perhaps even like his wife.  And while he was doing so, she could also marry, and resolve that the husband whom she took should be made to think he had a loving wife.  But were Frank to die,—­then must she fall upon his body as though he had been known by all the world to be her lover.  Something of this feeling came upon her now, when she heard that he had been betting and had been unfortunate.  She had been unable so to subdue herself as to seem to be perfectly careless about it.  She had begun by saying that she had not believed it;—­but she had believed it.  It was so natural that Tregear should have done as the others did with whom he lived!  But then the misfortune would be to him so terrible,—­so irremediable!  The reader, however, may as well know at once there was a not a word of truth in the assertion.

After dinner she went home alone.  There were other festivities to be attended, had she pleased to attend them; and poor Miss Cassewary was dressed ready to go with her as chaperone;—­but Miss Cassewary was quite satisfied to be allowed to go to bed in lieu of Mrs Montacute Jones’s great ball.  And she had gone to her bedroom when Lady Mabel went to her.  ‘I am glad you are alone,’ she said, ‘because I want to speak to you.’

‘Is anything wrong?’

‘Everything is wrong.  Papa says he must give up this house.’

’He says that almost always when he comes back from the races, and very often when he comes back from the club.’

‘Percival has lost ever so much.’

‘I don’t think my Lord will hamper himself for your brother.’

’I can’t explain it, but there is some horrible money complication.  It is hard upon you and me.’

‘Who am I?’ said Miss Cassewary.

’About the dearest friend that ever a poor girl had.  It is hard upon you,—­and upon me.  I have given up everything,—­and what good have I done?’

‘It is hard, my dear.’

’But after all I do not care much for all that.  The thing has been going on for so long that one is used to it.’

‘What is it then?’

‘Ah;—­yes;—­what is it?  How am I to tell you?’

‘Surely you can tell me,’ said the old woman, putting out her hand so as to caress the arm of the younger one.

’I could tell no one else; I am sure of that.  Frank Tregear has taken to gambling,—­like the rest of them.’

‘Who says so?’

’He has lost a lot of money at these races.  A man who sat next to me at dinner,—­one of those stupid do-nothing fools that one meets everywhere,—­told me so.  He is one of the Beargarden set, and of course he knows all about it.’