‘However short his life,’ said Nancy, ’he is only too likely to find out what she really is.’

’I am not sure of that.  She knows he is doomed, and it’s her interest to play a part.  He will die thinking the worst of me.—­ Nancy, if he writes to you, and says anything against me, you will remember what it means?’

‘My opinion of people is not affected by hearsay,’ Nancy replied.

It was a remark of dubious significance, and Mrs. Damerel’s averted eyes seemed to show that she derived little satisfaction from it.  As the silence was unbroken, Nancy rose.

‘I hope you will soon get rid of your cold.’

’Thank you, my dear.  I haven’t asked how the little boy is.  Well, I hope?’

‘Very well, I am glad to say.’

‘And your husband—­he is prospering?’

’I shouldn’t like to say he is prospering; it seems to mean so much; but I think he is doing good work, and we are satisfied with the results.’

‘My dear, you are an admirable wife.’

Nancy coloured; for the first time, a remark of Mrs. Damerel’s had given her pleasure.  She moved forward with hand offered for leave-taking.  They had never kissed each other, but, as if overcoming diffidence, Mrs. Damerel advanced her lips; then, as suddenly, she drew back.

‘I had forgotten.  I may give you my sore throat.’

Nancy kissed her cheek.

That night Mrs. Damerel was feverish, and the next day she kept her bed.  The servant who waited upon her had to endure a good many sharp reproofs; trouble did not sweeten this lady’s temper, yet she never lost sight of self-respect, and even proved herself capable of acknowledging that she was in the wrong.  Mrs. Damerel possessed the elements of civilisation.

This illness tried her patience in no slight degree.  Something she had wished to do, something of high moment, was vexatiously postponed.  A whole week went by before she could safely leave the house, and even then her mirror counselled a new delay.  But on the third day of the new year she made a careful toilette, and sent for a cab,—­the brougham she had been wont to hire being now beyond her means.

She drove to Farringdon Street, and climbed to the office of Mr Luckworth Crewe.  Her knowledge of Crewe’s habits enabled her to choose the fitting hour for this call; he had lunched, and was smoking a cigar.

‘How delightful to see you here!’ he exclaimed.  ’But why did you trouble to come?  If you had written, or telegraphed, I would have saved you the journey.  I haven’t even a chair that’s fit for you to sit down on.’

’What nonsense!  It’s a most comfortable little room.  Haven’t you improved it since I called?’

‘I shall have to look out for a bigger place.  I’m outgrowing this.’

’Are you really?  That’s excellent news.  Ah, but what sad things have been happening!’

‘It’s a bad business,’ Crewe answered, shaking his head.