He was suddenly aroused by his wife standing at his bedside, her cloak hanging off her shoulders, her coiffeur a little deranged, a lamp in her hand illuminating an unusually excited countenance.
“Well, what is it?” he demanded with pardonable irritation.
“Oh, P.! what do you think? A man has come from Simla——”
“Yes,” suddenly sitting erect, his official mind at once on the alert for some pressing and important dispatch.
“He came out with them in the same ship,” she panted.
Had Sarabella his wife gone suddenly out of her mind?
“He says that Mark, not Waring, is the rich man.”
“He said it after supper, I suppose,” snarled Mr. Brande. “He was drunk!”
“Not a bit of it! I tackled Mark himself, and he confessed. I was very angry at being taken in. He declares they did it without meaning a bit of harm at first, and that when it went too far he did not know what to do. He is very sorry.”
“That he is a millionaire! Oh yes, I should think so!”