With an effort he recovered himself, and his old sternness of manner towards Melville returned.
"When did you make Lady Holt's acquaintance?" he enquired coldly. "And how long have you known of—this?"
"I made her acquaintance yesterday," Melville answered; "I first heard of her existence the day before."
"Ah!" said Sir Geoffrey.
Melville interpreted the exclamation correctly; his uncle was thinking of his evening visit for getting money. He hastened to put him right.
"When I got back to my chambers after leaving you the night before last, I found a letter from Lady Holt asking me to call upon her yesterday, and, of course, I went."
"Of course," echoed Sir Geoffrey drily. He could imagine the alacrity with which Melville would follow up this discovery. "And she has sent me a message by you?"
"No," Melville replied. "I have come of my own motion. Uncle Geoffrey, your wife is in an absolutely destitute condition—she is starving."
Sir Geoffrey bit his lips. This thing was possible, and yet he could not place reliance on one single word his nephew uttered. He looked at him searchingly as if to read his soul, but Melville never blenched, and Sir Geoffrey was compelled to believe that in this instance his story was true, inasmuch as its truth was all to Melville's advantage. If only he could have looked his nephew in the face and denied the whole matter! But that was impossible. Not all the years that had elapsed could undo the marriage contracted in a moment of infatuation; all the injury which had been heaped upon him by his heartless wife could not release him from the obligation he had incurred. And now the forgotten story had been discovered by this unscrupulous, self-seeking schemer, who would be only too glad to retail it to an astonished world, unless it were made worth his while to hold his tongue. The suspicion leaped into life in the old man's mind. Melville might be sincere in his desire to be of service to his new-found relative, but the main plank in his platform was blackmail; he meant to have hush-money, and if that were not forthcoming he would publish all the facts, embellished, no doubt, by a malicious imagination.
At last he spoke.