ses?" he asked.

The doctor instantly produced the document.

To a rich man the sum required was, after all, trifling enough.
Mountjoy sat down at the writing-table. As he took up a pen, Mr.
Vimpany's protuberant eyes looked as if they would fly out of his head.

"If I lend you the money--" Hugh began.

"Yes? Yes?" cried the doctor.

"I do so on condition that nobody is to know of the loan but
ourselves."

"Oh, sir, on my sacred word of honour--" An order on Mountjoy's bankers
in Paris for the necessary amount, with something added for travelling
expenses, checked Mr. Vimpany in full career of protestation. He tried
to begin again: "My friend! my benefactor--"

He was stopped once more. His friend and benefactor pointed to the
clock.

"If you want the money to-day, you have just time to get to Paris
before the bank closes."

Mr. Vimpany did want the money--always wanted the money; his gratitude
burst out for the third time: "God bless you!"

The object of that highly original form of benediction pointed through
the window in the direction of the railway station. Mr. Vimpany
struggled no longer to express his feelings--he had made his last
sacrifice to appearances--he caught the train.

The door of the room had been left open. A voice outside said: "Has he
gone?"

"Come in, Fanny," said Mountjoy. "He will return to London either
to-night or to-morrow morning."

The strange maid put her head in at the door. "I'll be at the
terminus," she said, "and make sure of him."

Her head suddenly disappeared, before it was possible to speak to her
again. "Was there some other person outside? The other person entered
the room; it was Lord Harry. He spoke without his customary smile.

"I want a word with you, Mr. Mountjoy."

"About what, my lord?"

That direct question seemed to confuse the Irishman. He hesitated.

"About you," he said, and stopped to consider. "And another person," he
added mysteriously.

Hugh was constitutionally a hater of mysteries. He felt the need of a
more definite reply, and asked for it plainly:

"Does your lordship associate that other person with me?"

"Yes, I do."

"Who is the person?"

"My wife."

CHAPTER XXX

SAXON AND CELT

WHEN amicable relations between two men happen to be in jeopardy, there
is least danger of an ensuing quarrel if the friendly intercourse has
been of artificial growth, on either side. In this case, the promptings
of self-interest, and the law