The table was spread for tea, and at one end of it, on a high chair, sat a child of four years old.  Hilliard kissed her, and stroked her curly hair, and talked with playful affection.  This little girl was his niece, the child of his elder brother, who had died three years ago.  The poorly furnished room and her own attire proved that Mrs. Hilliard had but narrow resources in her widowhood.  Nor did she appear a woman of much courage; tears had thinned her cheeks, and her delicate hands had suffered noticeably from unwonted household work.

Hilliard remarked something unusual in her behaviour this evening.  She was restless, and kept regarding him askance, as if in apprehension.  A letter from her, in which she merely said she wished to speak to him, had summoned him hither from Dudley.  As a rule, they saw each other but once a month.

“No bad news, I hope!” he remarked aside to her, as he took his place at the table.

“Oh, no.  I’ll tell you afterwards.”

Very soon after the meal Mrs. Hilliard took the child away and put her to bed.  During her absence the visitor sat brooding, a peculiar half-smile on his face.  She came back, drew a chair up to the fire, but did not sit down.

“Well, what is it?” asked her brother-in-law, much as he might have spoken to the little girl.

“I have something very serious to talk about, Maurice.”

“Have you?  All right; go ahead.”

“I—­I am so very much afraid I shall offend you.”

The young man laughed.

“Not very likely.  I can take a good deal from you.”

She stood with her hands on the back of the chair, and as he looked at her, Hilliard saw her pale cheeks grow warm.

“It’ll seem very strange to you, Maurice.”

“Nothing will seem strange after an adventure I’ve had this afternoon.  You shall hear about it presently.”

“Tell me your story first.”

“That’s like a woman.  All right, I’ll tell you.  I met that scoundrel Dengate, and—­he’s paid me the money he owed my father.”

“He has paid it?  Oh! really?”

“See, here’s a cheque, and I think it likely I can turn it into cash.  The blackguard has been doing well at Liverpool.  I’m not quite sure that I understand the reptile, but he seems to have given me this because I abused him.  I hurt his vanity, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to astonish me.  He thinks I shall go about proclaiming him a noble fellow.  Four hundred and thirty-six pounds; there it is.”

He tossed the piece of paper into the air with boyish glee, and only just caught it as it was fluttering into the fire.

“Oh, be careful!” cried Mrs. Hilliard.

“I told him he was a scoundrel, and he began by threatening to thrash me.  I’m very glad he didn’t try.  It was in the train, and I know very well I should have strangled him.  It would have been awkward, you know.”