"Yes," said Durban, "your mother's friend." He paused, and then spat on the ground. "Curse her!" said Durban fiercely.
[CHAPTER IX]
LADY WATSON
Beatrice stared. At Vivian's grey drawn face, bereft of youth, and at Durban's savage green countenance, she looked spell-bound. A pause ensued. Beatrice did not know what to make of the men: Paslow's averted looks, and worn paleness; Durban's curse for Lady Watson. Would the fact that she did not inherit the money account for such emotions? She thought not, and so requested information.
"What is it?" she asked, looking from one to the other; but she looked longest at Vivian.
"You have heard, missy," said Durban, recovering himself somewhat. "We have lost the money."
"I can bear that, if I lose nothing else," said Beatrice, her eyes still on Paslow's grey face.
"But that she should get it!" cried Durban, shaking impotent fists in the air, "after all she has done. And I can do nothing to force her to be fair. Who would have thought the foul old thief would have squandered his gold on her silly face? I could----" Here he caught sight of the frightened looks of Beatrice, and let his hands fall. As he walked past Vivian towards the kitchen, he breathed a sentence in the young man's ear. "She may know much," said Durban imperatively, "but not all."
"Great Heaven! Could I tell her all, do you think?" groaned the man.
Beatrice caught the drift, if not the exact words of these whispers, and came towards Vivian. Durban was already within the kitchen, and had shut the door. The two were alone--she eager to know the worst; he silent, and tortured with much that he could not explain. "Vivian, Vivian," she continued, and laid her hand on his arm. He shook it off with a shudder. "My dear!" said Beatrice, shrinking back; "oh! my dear," and she stared with fast-locked hands.