‘I will.’  She heaved open-mouthed to get physical control of the tide.  ’When you say that of her!—­how can I help it?  It’s I fear, because I fear . . . and I’ve no right to expect ever . . . but if I’m never again to look on that dear face, tell her I shall—­I shall pray for her in my grave.  Tell her she has done all a woman can, an angel can, to save my soul.  I speak truth:  my very soul!  I could never go to the utter bad after knowing her.  I don’t—­you know the world—­I’m a poor helpless woman!—­don’t swear to give up my Ned if he does break the word he promised once; I can’t see how I could.  I haven’t her courage.  I haven’t—­what it is!  You know her:  it’s in her eyes and her voice.  If I had her beside me, then I could starve or go to execution—­I could, I am certain.  Here I am, going to do what you men hate.  Let me sit.’

‘Here’s a chair,’ said Dartrey.  ’I’ve no time to spare; good day, for the present.  You will permit me to call.’

‘Oh! come’; she cried, out of her sobs, for excuse.  They were genuine, or she would better have been able to second her efforts to catch a distinct vision of his retreating figure.

She beheld him, when he was in the street, turn for the district where Major Worrell had his lodgeings.  That set her mind moving, and her tears fell no longer.

Major Worrell was not at home.  Dartrey was informed that he might be at his Club.

At the Club he heard of the major as having gone to London and being expected down in the afternoon.  Colonel Sudley named the train:  an early train; the major was engaged to dine at the Club.  Dartrey had information supplied to him concerning Major Worrell and Captain Marsett, also Mrs. Marsett.  She had a history.  Worthy citizens read the description of history with interest when the halo of Royalty is round it.  They may, if their reading extends, perceive, that it has been the main turbid stream in old Mammon’s train since he threw his bait for flesh.  They might ask, too, whether it is likely to cease to flow while he remains potent.  The lady’s history was brief, and bore recital in a Club; came off quite honourably there.  Regarding Major Worrell, the tale of him showed him to have a pass among men.  He managed cleverly to get his pleasures out of a small income and a ‘fund of anecdote.’  His reputation indicated an anecdotist of the table, prevailing in the primitive societies, where the art of conversing does not come by nature, and is exercised in monosyllabic undertones or grunts until the narrator’s well-masticated popular anecdote loosens a digestive laughter, and some talk ensues.  He was Marsett’s friend, and he boasted of not letting Ned Marsett make a fool of himself.

Dartrey was not long in shaping the man’s character:  Worrell belonged to the male birds of upper air, who mangle what female prey they are forbidden to devour.  And he had Miss Radnor’s name:  he had spoken her name at the Club overnight.  He had roused a sensation, because of a man being present, Percy Southweare, who was related to a man as good as engaged to marry her.  The major never fell into a quarrel with sons of nobles, if he could help it, or there might have been a pretty one.