“Ugly rumors about me?” said Pelham. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, it has got abroad—I daresay there’s not a word of truth in it—but it is the talk of more than one club that you signed a post obit for a large sum just before that child, little Piers, was taken ill. I don’t believe it for a moment: and I denied it flatly. You are the last man to put your hand to such a document. What is the matter, old fellow?—you look ill.”
“But it is true; I did sign a post obit,” answered Pelham in a low voice.
Carroll uttered a surprised exclamation.
“You astound me,” he said. “Then for Heaven’s sake, go back to London at once. This is not a time for you to hide yourself in a corner.”
CHAPTER XVII.
MRS. PELHAM.
The Pelhams returned home and took up their quarters at Mrs. Evershed’s house in Mark Place.
Pelham had been in London two or three days before he could muster sufficient courage to visit Mrs. Pelham.
“You must come, Dick,” said his young wife; “your keeping away looks strange. Mrs. Pelham has been talking to mother about you and wondering why you never come near her. She sent us an invitation only yesterday, and she wants us to take tea with her this afternoon. I accepted her invitation for us both. Come with me, and get it over.”
Pelham remained silent for a moment. Then he said—