IV

‘But whatever made you do it, dearest?’

These words were addressed to Annie Emery on the glorious summer evening which closed that glorious summer day, and they were addressed to her by no other person than Powell Liversage.  The pair were in the garden of the house in Trafalgar Road occupied by Mr Liversage and his mother, and they looked westwards over the distant ridge of Hillport, where the moon was setting.

‘Whatever made me do it!’ repeated Annie, and the twinkle in her eye had that charming cruelty which John had missed.  ’Did they not deserve it?  Of course, I can talk to you now with perfect freedom, can’t I?  Well, what do you think of it?  Here for ten years neither one nor the other does more than recognize me in the street, and then all of a sudden they come down on me like that—­simply because there’s a question of money.  I couldn’t have believed men could be so stupid—­no, I really couldn’t!  They’re friends of yours, Powell, I know, but—­however, that’s no matter.  But it was too ridiculously easy to lead them on!  They’d swallow any flattery.  I just did it to see what they’d do, and I think I arranged it pretty well.  I quite expected they would call about the same time, and then shouldn’t I have given them my mind!  Unfortunately they met outside, and got very hot—­I saw them from the bedroom window—­and went away.’

‘You mustn’t forget, my dear girl,’ said Liversage, ’that it was you they quarrelled about.  I don’t want to defend ’em for a minute, but it wasn’t altogether the money that sent them to you; it was more that the money gave them an excuse for coming!’

‘It was a very bad excuse, then!’ said Annie.

‘Agreed!’ Liversage murmured.

The moon was extremely lovely and romantic against the distant spire of Hillport Church, and its effect on the couple was just what might have been anticipated.

‘Perhaps I’m sorry,’ Annie admitted at length, with a charming grimace.

‘Oh!  I don’t think there’s anything to be sorry about,’ said Liversage.  ’But of course they’ll think I’ve had a hand in it.  You see, I’ve never breathed a word to them about—­about my feelings towards you.’

‘No?’

’No.  It would have been rather a delicate subject, you see, with them.  And I’m sure they’ll be staggered when they know that we got engaged last night.  They’ll certainly say I’ve—­er—­been after you for the—­No, they won’t.  They’re decent chaps, really; very decent.’

‘Anyhow, you may be sure, dear,’ said Annie stiffly, ’that I shan’t rob them of their vile money!  Nothing would induce me to touch it!’

‘Of course not, dearest!’ said Liversage—­or, rather the finer part of him said it; the baser part somewhat regretted that vile twelve thousand or so. (I must be truthful.)

He took her hand again.

At the same moment old Mrs Liversage came hastening down the garden, and Liversage dropped the hand.