at his gates; and could Mr. Chown have heard the admissions she made to Welwyn-Baker’s advocates, he would have charged her with criminal weakness, if not with secret treachery.  She herself had as yet been able to do very little for the poor of the town; with the clergy she had no intimate relations (church-going was for her and Denzil only a politic conformity); and Polterham was not large enough to call for the organization of special efforts.  But her face invited the necessitous; in the by-ways she had been appealed to for charity, with results which became known among people inclined to beg.  So it happened that she was one day led on a benevolent mission into the poorest part of the town, and had an opportunity of indulging her helpful instincts.

This was in the afternoon.  Between nine and ten that evening, as Denzil and she sat together in the library (for once they were alone and at peace), a servant informed her that Mrs. Wade wished to speak for a moment on urgent business.  She went out and found her friend in the drawing-room.

“Can you give me a few minutes?”

“As long as ever you like!  No one is here, for a wonder.  Do you wish to talk privately, or will you come into the study?  We were sitting there.”

“It’s only politics.”

“Oh, then come.”

Quarrier would rather have been left in quiet over the proof-sheets of his book—­it was already going through the press—­but he welcomed the visitor with customary friendliness.

“Capital speech of Hartington’s yesterday.”

“Very good answer to Cross.  What do you think of John Bright and the licensed victuallers?”

“Oh,” laughed Denzil, “he’ll have to talk a good deal before he persuades them that temperance is money in their pockets!  I don’t see the good of that well-intentioned sophistry.  But then, you know, I belong to the habitual drunkards!  You have heard that Scatchard Vialls so represents me to all and sundry?”

“I should proceed against him for slander.”

“On the contrary, I think it does me good.  All the honest topers will rally to me, and the sober Liberals will smile indulgently.  Sir Wilfred Lawson would long ago have been stamped out as a bore of the first magnitude but for his saving humour.”

Mrs. Wade presently made known her business; but with a preface which disturbed the nerves of both her listeners.

“The enemy have a graver charge against you.  I happened, an hour ago, to catch a most alarming rumour.  Mr. Quarrier, your wife will be your ruin!”

Notwithstanding the tone of burlesque, Lilian turned pale, and Quarrier stood frowning.  Mrs. Wade examined them both, her bright eyes glancing quickly from one face to the other and back again.  She did not continue, until Quarrier exclaimed impatiently: 

“What is it now?”

“Nothing less than an accusation of bribery and corruption.”

Relief was audible in Denzil’s laugh.