"Stay a moment," said Lord Acorn, a recollection occurring to him. "Adela was at Colonel Hope's yesterday: I remember Frances said so. She must be staying there. That's it."
"Probably so," was Mr. Grubb's cold assent. "She has, I say, taken the initiative in the matter."
He sat down as he spoke, motioning Lord Acorn to the seat on the other side of the small table between them, and took a paper from his pocketbook on which he had pencilled a few notes, as to the terms of separation.
Terms that were wonderfully liberal in their pecuniary aspect. Lord Acorn heard the amount of the sum he proposed to allow his wife annually with a thrill of generous admiration. Oh, what a fool Adela has been! thought he. Why could she not have made herself a loving helpmeet to this noble-minded man, whose every instinct is good and great?
"Are you satisfied with the amount, Lord Acorn?"
"Quite."
"It will be paid to you; not to herself," continued Mr. Grubb. "As a matter of course, her home must be with you and her mother. The allowance that you may deem suitable for herself personally you will be good enough to pay to her out of it, as you and she may arrange. I do not interfere with details. She had better have her own separate carriage and horses."
Lord Acorn nodded in silence. He knew why he was to be the recipient of the income, instead of Adela—that she might not have the means at her disposal to lose herself in future at Lady Sanely's. That had been the leading source of this last dangerous episode.
"I hope you will take care of her," cried Mr. Grubb, as he rose, and pressed Lord Acorn's hand in parting.
"To the best of my power. Ah, Grubb I—I can't grumble, of course; no, neither at the step nor the proposed arrangements—but, if you could but see your way to condone the past; to receive her back!"