But there came a day when he fell again below the indispensable standard—­when the rift in the lute, that had seemed closed, gaped suddenly, and this time beyond repair.  It was when, after close investigation of the deceased man’s affairs, and some heated interviews with one of the executors (Deb being the other), Claud discovered that the Pennycuick wealth was non-existent—­that Redford was mortgaged to the hilt, and that if the estate was realised and cleared, as Deb desired it should be, nothing would be left for her and her sisters—­ that is to say, a paltry three or four hundred a year amongst them, less than Deb could spend comfortably on her clothes alone.

He was too upset by the discovery, and a bad quarter of an hour that Mr Thornycroft had subsequently given him, to preserve that calm demeanour which was his study and his pride.  He came in to Deb where she sat alone, and expressed his feelings as the ordinary man is wont to do to the woman who loves and belongs to him.

“What could your father have been dreaming of,” he rudely interrogated her, “to let the place go to pieces like this?  Drifting behind year after year, and doing nothing to stop it—­not cutting down one of the living expenses—­not giving us the least hint of how things really were—­”

“He gave several hints,” said Deb, in that voice which always grew so portentously quiet when his was raised, “if we had had the sense to take them.  I have been putting two and two together for some time, so that I am not altogether taken by surprise.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were not here, for one thing.  Because it was father’s private business, for another.”

“He seems not to have made it his business to take any care of his children’s interests,” said Claud bitterly.  “Bringing you up as he has done, with the right to expect that you were to be properly provided for, and then leaving you literally paupers—­”

“Not literally paupers,” corrected Deb gently.  “We shall be quite independent still.  And if you want to insult my father now that he is dead—­the best of fathers, if he did have misfortunes in business and make mistakes—­do it somewhere else, not in this room.”  “You have no right to take that tone with me, Deb.”  “No?” She raised sarcastic eyebrows, under which her deep eyes gleamed.  “Well, I suppose I haven’t —­now.  I forgot my new place.  I am very sorry, Claud”—­rising, and making a gesture with her hands that he had seen before—­“very sorry indeed, that I did not know I was going to be a poor woman and a nobody when you did me the honour to select me to be your wife.  Now that you have shown me that I am disqualified for the position—­” she held out the big diamond, with a cold smile.  “That’s vulgar, Deb,” he loftily admonished her, fending off her hand.  “You know I am not actuated by those low motives.  Don’t let us have this cheap melodrama, for pity’s sake!  Put it on.”