“I knew you would say so,” said Lady May, again shaking hands in a very friendly way; “and I know what I say won't go any further. I mean, of course, that you will receive it entirely as a confidence.”
Mr. Longcluse was earnest in his assurances of secresy and good faith.
“Well,” said Lady May, lowering her voice, “poor Reginald, he was my cousin, you know, so it pains me to say it; but he was a good deal embarrassed; his estates were very much in debt. He owed money to a great many people, I believe.”
“Oh! Really?” Mr. Longcluse expressed his well-bred surprise very creditably.
“Yes, indeed; and these people, Childers and Ballard, have something they call a judgment, I think. It is a kind of debt, for about twelve hundred pounds, which they say must be paid at once; and they vow that if it is not they will seize the coffin, and—and—all that, at the funeral. And David Arden is so angry, you can't think! and he says that the money is not owed to them, and that they have no right by law to do any such thing; and that from beginning to end it is a mere piece of extortion. And he won't hear of Richard's paying a farthing of it; and he says that Richard must bring a law-suit against them, for ever so much money, if they attempt anything of the kind, and that he's sure to win. But that is not what I am thinking of—it is about poor Alice, she is so miserable about the mere chance of its happening. The profanation—the fracas—all so shocking and so public—the funeral, you know.”
“You are quite sure of that, Lady May?” said Longcluse.
“I heard it all as I tell you. My man of business told me; and I saw David Arden,” she answered.
“Oh! yes; but I mean, with respect to Miss Arden. Does she, in particular, so very earnestly desire intervention in this awkward business?”
“Certainly; only she—only Miss Arden—only Alice.”
He looked down in thought, and then again in her face, paler than usual. He had made up his mind.