‘Where is he—­our boy?’

‘At Dulwich.  I told you that in my last letter.’

‘Yes—­yes.  I thought you might have changed.’

’I couldn’t have found a better, kinder woman.  Can you guess how many answers I had to the advertisement?  Thirty-two.’

’Of course five-and-twenty of them took it for granted you would pay so much a week and ask no questions.  They would just not have starved the baby,—­unless you had hinted to them that you were willing to pay a lump sum for a death-certificate, in which case the affair would have been more or less skilfully managed.’

’Mary knew all about that.  She came from Falmouth, and spent two days in visiting people.  I knew I could rely on her judgment.  There were only four or five people she cared to see at all, and of these only one that seemed trustworthy.’

’To be sure.  One out of two-and-thirty.  A higher percentage than would apply to mankind at large, I dare say.  By-the-bye, I was afraid you might have found a difficulty in registering the birth.’

’No.  I went to the office myself, the morning that I was leaving Falmouth, and the registrar evidently knew nothing about me.  It isn’t such a small place that everybody living there is noticed and talked of.’

‘And Mary took the child straight to Dulwich?’

’Two days before I came,—­so as to have the house ready for me.

’Perhaps it was unfortunate, Nancy, that you had so good a friend.  But for that, I should have suffered more uneasiness about you.’

She answered with energy: 

‘There is no husband in the world worth such a friend as Mary.’

At this Tarrant first smiled, then laughed.  Nancy kept her lips rigid.  It happened that he again saw her face in exact profile, and again it warmed the current of his blood.

‘Some day you shall think better of that.’

She paid no attention.  Watching her, he asked: 

‘What are you thinking of so earnestly?’

Her answer was delayed a little, but she said at length, with an absent manner: 

‘Horace might lend me the money to pay back what I owe.’

’Your brother?—­If he can afford it, there would be less objection to that than to any other plan I can think of.  But I must ask it myself; you shall beg no more favours.  I will ask it in your presence.’

‘You will do nothing of the kind,’ Nancy replied drily.  ’If you think to please me by humiliating yourself, you are very much mistaken.  And you mustn’t imagine that I put myself into your hands to be looked after as though I had no will of my own.  With the past you have nothing to do,—­with my past, at all events.  Care for the future as you like.’

‘But I must see your guardians.’

‘No.  I won’t have that.’

She stood up to emphasise her words.

‘I must.  It’s the only way in which I can satisfy myself—­’