The silence grew intolerable.
"I know I've been a beast,"—her voice faltered, broke into tears. "I knew you wouldn't like it, but—but you know, Oliver, Rabbit isn't like an ordinary man."
"When did he begin to give you money?" asked Oliver, in a low voice.
"A long time ago," she answered, vaguely.
"He came in one day when I was awfully upset about a bill—a bill of that old devil, Bliss,—and he was so kind, Oliver. He explained how awfully fond he was of us both. He said we were his only friends—I always have been nice to him, you know. He said he couldn't spend the money he'd got——"
"How much have you had from him?"
"I can tell you exactly," she said eagerly, and again she moved towards her bureau.
Bella felt utterly dejected; somehow she had not expected Oliver to take the news quite in this way; he looked dreadful—not relieved, as she had thought he would do.
It was with slow lagging steps that she walked back to where her husband was still standing with the envelope and its contents crushed in his right hand.
Bella's love of tidiness and method had stood her in fatally good stead. She had put down all the sums she had received from Henry Buck, but in such a fashion that any one else looking at the figures would not have known money was in question.