The waitress named the sum he was to pay, and receiving a meditative look in return for her air of expectancy after the amount had been laid on the table, at once accelerated their passage from the shop by opening the door.

“If ever I did give pennies, I’d give ’em to you,” said Anthony, when he was out of her hearing.  “Women beat men in guessing at a man by his face.  Says she—­you’re honourable—­you’re legal—­but prodigal ain’t your portion.  That’s what she says, without the words, unless she’s a reader.  Now, then, Dahly, my lass, you take my arm.  Buckle to.  We’ll to the West.  Don’t th’ old farmer pronounce like ‘toe’ the West?  We’ll ‘toe’ the West.  I can afford to laugh at them big houses up there.

“Where’s the foundation, if one of them’s sound?  Why, in the City.

“I’ll take you by our governor’s house.  You know—­you know—­don’t ye, Dahly, know we been suspecting his nephew? ’cause we saw him with you at the theatre.

“I didn’t suspect.  I knew he found you there by chance, somehow.  And I noticed your dress there.  No wonder your husband’s poor.  He wanted to make you cut a figure as one of the handsomes, and that’s as ruinous as cabs—­ha! ha!”

Anthony laughed, but did not reveal what had struck him.

“Sir William Blancove’s house is a first-rater.  I’ve been in it.  He lives in the library.  All the other rooms—­enter ’em, and if ’taint like a sort of, a social sepulchre!  Dashed if he can get his son to live with him; though they’re friends, and his son’ll get all the money, and go into Parliament, and cut a shine, never fear.

“By the way, I’ve seen Robert, too.  He called on me at the Bank.  Asked after you.

“‘Seen her?’ says he.

“‘No,’ I says.

“‘Ever see Mr. Edward Blancove here?’ he says.

“I told him, I’d heard say, Mr. Edward was Continentalling.  And then Robert goes off.  His opinion is you ain’t in England; ’cause a policeman he spoke to can’t find you nowhere.

“’Come,” says I, ’let’s keep our detectives to catch thieves, and not go distracting of ’em about a parcel o’ women.’

“He’s awfully down about Rhoda.  She might do worse than take him.  I don’t think he’s got a ounce of a chance now Religion’s set in, though he’s the mildest big ’un I ever come across.  I forgot to haul him over about what he ’d got to say about Mr. Edward.  I did remark, I thought--ain’t I right?—­Mr. Algernon’s not the man?—­eh?  How come you in the theatre with him?”

Dahlia spoke huskily.  “He saw me.  He had seen me at home.  It was an accident.”

“Exactly how I put it to Robert.  And he agreed with me.  There’s sense in that young man.  Your husband wouldn’t let you come to us there—­eh? because he...why was that?”

Dahlia had it on her lips to say it “Because he was poorer than I thought;” but in the intensity of her torment, the wretchedness of this lie, revolted her.  “Oh! for God’s sake, uncle, give me peace about that.”