With that apology he darted out of the room, forgetting his broken pledge, intent only on finding other ears to hear his wonderful news.
"It's very satisfactory, isn't it?" asked Grantley. "I think they'll get on very well, you know. He's young, of course, and——"
"Please don't make talk, Grantley. When did you give him that money?"
"I don't remember."
"There are bank-books and so on, aren't there?"
"How businesslike you're getting!"
"Tell me when, please."
Grantley rose and stood opposite to her, even as they had stood in the inn—at the Sailors' Rest at Fairhaven.
"I don't remember the date." He paused, seemed to think, and then went on: "Yes, I'll tell you, because then you'll understand. He came to me the morning of the day you—you went over to Fairhaven. While he was there, Christine's letter came. And I gave him the money because I wanted to put you in the wrong as much as I could. Oh, I liked Jeremy, and was willing to help him—just as I was ready to help old John. But that wasn't my great reason. My great reason was to get a bigger grievance against you—for the way you had treated me, and were going to treat me, you know."
"If it had been that, you'd have told me—you'd have told me that night in the inn. You must have known what it would have been to me to hear it then; but you never told me."