He had even been treated like a bad boy; had
been told that he had wasted money; had been ordered, in no doubtful way,
to bring the full schedule of his debts. And all the time he dared not
say anything lest the thing shouldn't come off at all. Stephen had such
an infernally masterly way with her! It didn't matter whether she was
proposing to him, or he was proposing to her, he was made to feel small
all the same. He would have to put up with it till he had got rid of the
debts! And then as to the letter. Why was she so persistent about seeing it? Did she want to get it into her hands and then keep it, as Harold An Wolf
had done? Was it possible that she suspected he would use it to coerce
her; she would call it 'blackmail,' he supposed. This being the very
thing he had intended to do, and had done, he grew very indignant at the
very thought of being accused of it. It was, he felt, a very awkward
thing that he had lost possession of the letter. He might need it if
Stephen got nasty. Then Harold might give it to her, as he had
threatened to do. He thought he would call round that evening by
Harold's house, and see if he couldn't get back the letter. It belonged
to him; Harold had no right to keep it. He would see him before he and
Stephen got putting their heads together. So, on his way home, he turned
his steps at once to Harold's house. He did not find him in. The maid who opened the door could give him no
information; all she could say was that Mrs. Dingle the housekeeper had
got a telegram from Master saying that he had been called suddenly away
on business. This was a new source of concern to Leonard. He suspected a motive of
some sort; though what that motive could be he could not hazard the
wildest guess. On his way home he called at the post-office and sent a
telegram to Cavendish and Cecil, the name of the usurers' firm, in
accordance with Stephen's direction. He signed it: 'Jasper Everard.' CHAPTER XVII--A BUSINESS TRANSACTION


When Stephen had sent off her letter to the bank she went out for a
stroll; she knew it would be no use trying to get rest before dinner. That ordeal, too, had to be gone through. She found herself
unconsciously going in the direction of the grove; but when she became
aware of it a great revulsion overcame her, and she shuddered. Slowly she took her way across the hard stretch of finely-kept grass
which lay on the side of the house away from the wood. The green sward
lay like a sea, dotted with huge trees, singly, or in clumps as islands. In its far-stretching stateliness there was something soothing. She came
back to the sound of the dressing-gong with a better strength to resist
the trial before her. Well she knew her aunt would have something to say
on the subject of her interference in Leonard Everard's affairs. Her fears were justified, for when they had come into the drawing-room
after dinner Miss Rowly began:

'Stephen dear, is it not unwise of you to interfere in Mr. Everard's
affairs?' 'Why unwise, Auntie?' 'Well, my dear, the world is censorious. And when a young lady, of your
position and your wealth, takes a part in a young man's affairs tongues
are apt to wag. And also, dear, debts, young men's debts, are hardly the
subjects for a girl's investigation. Remember, that we ladies live very
different lives from men; from some men, I should say, for your dear
father was the best of men, and I should think that in all his life there
was nothing which he would have wished concealed. But, my dear, young
men are less restrained in their ways than we are, than we have to be for
our own safety and protection.' The poor lady was greatly perturbed at
having to speak in such a way. Stephen saw her distress; coming over to
her, she sat down and took her hand. Stephen had a very tender side to
her nature, and she loved very truly the dear old lady who had taken her
mother's place and had shown her all a mother's love. Now, in her
loneliness and woe and fear, she clung to her in spirit. She would have
liked to have clung to her physically; to have laid her head on her
bosom, and have cried her heart out. The time for tears had not come. Hourly she felt more and more the weight that a shameful secret is to
carry. She knew, however, that she could set her aunt's mind at rest on
the present subject; so she said:

'I think you are right, Auntie dear. It would have been better if I had
asked you first; but I saw that Leonard was in distress, and wormed the
cause of it from him. When I heard that it was only debt I offered to
help him. He is an old friend, you know, Auntie. We were children
together; and as I have much more money than I can ever want or spend, I
thought I might help him. I am afraid I have let myself in for a bigger
thing than I intended; but as I have promised I must go on with it. I
dare say, Auntie, that you are afraid that I may end by getting in love
with him, and marrying him. Don't you, dear?' This was said with a hug
and a kiss which gave the old lady delight. Her instinct told her what
was coming. She nodded her head in acquiescence. Stephen went on
gravely:

'Put any such fear out of your mind. I shall never marry him. I can
never love him.' She was going to say 'could never love him,' when she
remembered. 'Are you sure, my dear? The heart is not always under one's own
control.' 'Quite sure, Auntie. I know Leonard Everard; and though I have always
liked him, I do not respect him. Why, the very fact of his coming to me
for money would make me reconsider any view I had formed, had nothing
else ever done so. You may take it, Auntie dear, that in the way you
mean Leonard is nothing to me; can never be anything to me!' Here a
sudden inspiration took her. In its light a serious difficulty passed,
and the doing of a thing which had a fear of its own became easy. With a
conviction in her tone, which in itself aided her immediate purpose, she
said:

'I shall prove it to you. That is, if you will not mind doing something
which will save me an embarrassment.' 'You know I will do anything, my dearest, which an old woman can do for a
young one!' Stephen squeezed the mittened hand which she held as she
went on:

'As I said, I have promised to lend him some money. The first instalment
is to be given him to-morrow; he is to call for it in the afternoon. Will
you give it to him for me?' 'Gladly, my dear,' said the old lady, much relieved. Stephen continued:

'One other thing, Auntie, I want you to do for me: not to think of the
amount, or to say a word to me about it. It is a large sum, and I dare
say it will frighten you a little. But I have made up my mind to it. I
am learning a great deal out of this, Auntie dear; and I am quite willing
to pay for my knowledge. After all, money is the easiest and cheapest
way of paying for knowledge! Don't you agree with me?' Miss Rowly gulped down her disappointment. She felt that she ought not
to say too much, now that Stephen had set aside her graver fears.