His reason for leaving his breakfast unfinished to run after Miss de

Barral's governess, was to speak to her in reference to that very errand

possessing the utmost possible importance in his eyes. He shrugged his

shoulders at the nervousness of her eyes and hands, at the half-strangled

whisper "I had to go out. I could hardly contain myself." That was her

affair. He was, with a young man's squeamishness, rather sick of her

ferocity. He did not understand it. Men do not accumulate hate against

each other in tiny amounts, treasuring every pinch carefully till it

grows at last into a monstrous and explosive hoard. He had run out after

her to remind her of the balance at the bank. What about lifting that

money without wasting any more time? She had promised him to leave

nothing behind.

An account opened in her name for the expenses of the establishment in

Brighton, had been fed by de Barral with deferential lavishness. The

governess crossed the wide hall into a little room at the side where she

sat down to write the cheque, which he hastened out to go and cash as if

it were stolen or a forgery. As observed by the Fynes, his uneasy

appearance on leaving the house arose from the fact that his first

trouble having been caused by a cheque of doubtful authenticity, the

possession of a document of the sort made him unreasonably uncomfortable

till this one was safely cashed. And after all, you know it was stealing

of an indirect sort; for the money was de Barral's money if the account

was in the name of the accomplished lady. At any rate the cheque was

cashed. On getting hold of the notes and gold he recovered his jaunty

bearing, it being well known that with certain natures the presence of

money (even stolen) in the pocket, acts as a tonic, or at least as a

stimulant. He cocked his hat a little on one side as though he had had a

drink or two--which indeed he might have had in reality, to celebrate the

occasion.

The governess had been waiting for his return in the hall, disregarding

the side-glances of the butler as he went in and out of the dining-room

clearing away the breakfast things. It was she, herself, who had opened

the door so promptly. "It's all right," he said touching his

breast-pocket; and she did not dare, the miserable wretch without

illusions, she did not dare ask him to hand it over. They looked at each

other in silence. He nodded significantly: "Where is she now?" and she

whispered "Gone into the drawing-room. Want to see her again?" with an

archly black look which he acknowledged by a muttered, surly: "I am

damned if I do. Well, as you want to bolt like this, why don't we go

now?"




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