The fair boy with the business brains might have been seriously of opinion that there was something wrong with Byers’ nerve had he seen him waiting for Mrs Rivers in the drawing-room, waiting to tell her that the necessary resources were not forthcoming; he hoped that he need tell her no more than that; he wished that he had not come, but he could not endure the self-contempt which the thought of running away had brought with it; he must face her; the woman could do no more than abuse him. One other thought he had for a moment entertained—of offering to let her stand in, as Mr Shum had let Lady Craigennoch; there was hardly any sum which he would not have been glad to give her. But long before he reached the house he had decided that she would not stand in. “By God, I should think not,” he said to himself indignantly.
But he had one phrase ready for her. He reminded her of the paragraphs, the rumours, and the Manifesto. “We have by these means felt the pulse of the public,” he said. He paused, she said nothing. “The result is not—er—encouraging,” he went on. “The moment is not propitious.”
“You promised the money if the Prince signed the Manifesto,” she said.
“Promised? Oh, well, I said I’d——”
“You promised,” said Mrs Rivers. “What’s the difficulty now?”
“The state of public feeling——” he began.
“I know that. We want the money to change it. She smiled slightly. “If the feeling had been with us already we shouldn’t have wanted the money.” She leant forward and asked, “Haven’t you got the money? You said you had.”
“Yes, I’ve got it—or I could get it.”
“Yes. Well then—! Why have you changed your mind?”
He made no answer, and for a while she sat looking at him thoughtfully. She did not abuse him, and she did not cry.