On that afternoon, immediately on the husband's return to the house, his wife spoke to him as her father had desired. On that evening Mr. Wharton was dining at his club, and therefore there was the whole evening before them; but the thing to be done was disagreeable, and therefore she did it at once,—rushing into the matter almost before he had seated himself in the arm-chair which he had appropriated to his use in the drawing-room. "Papa was talking about our affairs after you left this morning, and he thinks that it would be so much better if you would tell him all about them."
"What made him talk of that to-day?" he said, turning at her almost angrily and thinking at once of the Duke's cheque.
"I suppose it is natural that he should be anxious about us, Ferdinand;—and the more natural as he has money to give if he chooses to give it."
"I have asked him for nothing lately;—though, by George, I intend to ask him and that very roundly. Three thousand pounds isn't much of a sum of money for your father to have given you."
"And he paid the election bill;—didn't he?"
"He has been complaining of that behind my back,—has he? I didn't ask him for it. He offered it. I wasn't such a fool as to refuse, but he needn't bring that up as a grievance to you."
"It wasn't brought up as a grievance. I was saying that your standing had been a heavy expenditure—"
"Why did you say so? What made you talk about it at all? Why should you be discussing my affairs behind my back?"
"To my own father! And that too when you are telling me every day that I am to induce him to help you!"
"Not by complaining that I am poor. But how did it all begin?" She had to think for a moment before she could recollect how it did begin. "There has been something," he said, "which you are ashamed to tell me."