"Why should I pretend to forget that, or any circumstance of our business relations? I am perfectly aware that you started the hunt of the Haygarths, and that to your investigations is to be traced the discovery that proves my wife a claimant to the estate now held by the Crown."
"Very good; that's outspoken and honest, at any rate. And now, how about our agreement? It's only a parole agreement, but an honest man's word is as good as his bond."
"Our agreement!" repeated Valentine, with a puzzled expression of countenance. "Upon my word, I forget."
"Ah, I thought it would come to that; I thought you would manage to forget the terms agreed upon by you and me in the event of your marriage with Charlotte Halliday. My memory is not so short as yours; and I can swear to a conversation between you and me in this room, in which you consented to my taking half the Haygarthian estate as the price of my discovery and the fair reward of my labours."
"Yes," said Valentine, "I remember that conversation; and I remember saying that the demand was a stiff one, but that I, as Charlotte's future husband, would not oppose such a demand."
"You remember that?"
"I do; and if my wife is willing to consent to your terms, I will hold to my promise."
"Your wife's consent is not wanted. She married you without a settlement, and her rights are merged in yours. To all intents and purposes, you are heir-at-law to John Haygarth's estate."
Valentine laughed aloud; the whole affair seemed a tremendous joke. He, the homeless, penniless, friendless reprobate of but one year ago—he, the son and heir of a man who had been always on the verge of social shipwreck for want of five pounds—he, of all other men upon this earth, claimant against the Crown for an estate worth one hundred thousand pounds!
"The whole affair seems ridiculously improbable," he said.