"I am sorry to say it is correct. I had to sell it, Irene, I was in difficulties."
"You, in difficulties!" she exclaimed. "How is that possible, you have a large income?"
"I have been gambling, and owed more than I could pay. So I thought the best way would be to sell Holme Farm and clear them all off. I shall be more cautious next time, you may be sure."
"You might have told me how matters stood," she said, reproachfully. "And if you were compelled to sell the Farm, why did you not offer it to the Squire, he would have given you a better price than that for it?"
"I had no idea he would buy it; he is always grumbling about land, and saying it is no good investing in it."
"He said Holme Farm was worth five thousand more than you accepted for it, and I believe he would have given it."
He was angry with himself when he heard this, but he knew the real reason he had not offered it to the Squire was that he was ashamed to do so. As he looked at Irene, he recognised her beauty more clearly than he had ever done before. He felt he was dealing her blow after blow, and the worst was yet to come. It made him desperate when he thought of Janet, and the trouble she could cause. Why had he been such a fool to fall into the toils of such a minx? He hated her name, and it was sacrilege to think of her in the presence of Irene. As for Irene she was depressed and uneasy at her husband's statement. If he was compelled to sell the Holme Farm, others might follow, and the estate gradually dwindle down to small proportions. It was not a bright prospect after only eighteen months of married life. She saw he was worried and troubled, and did not look himself.
"Are you feeling unwell?" she asked.
"No, why?"
"Because you do not look in your usual health; if you have any trouble, Warren, I wish you would confide in me, and I might possibly help you. It will be far better for me to hear it from you than from any outsiders, and you know what gossips people are."