All the Midharst money was gone. Her fault was at most a vice; but he had committed a crime. He lay between two fears; he was threatened by two discoveries. Someone might find out about her, and blast the fame of the Manor House; someone might find out about him, and blast the Daneford Bank, and lock him up in jail, and brand the name he bore with ignominy.
In such a state of mind was Grey when the 16th of August arrived and evening brought him home. The husband and wife sat down alone to dinner, sat down alone to the last dinner they were ever to eat together.
"Bee," said Grey to his wife, when the dessert had been brought in and the servants had gone, "do you think you could go down to Seacliff in the Rodwell to-morrow evening, and look up the cottage? I saw the estimable and penurious landlord of it to-day. It's not occupied this month, and he wanted me to take it from the 20th. I'm half inclined to accept his offer. He says we can have it from the 20th of this month to the end of September for a month's rent. It would be almost worth while to take him at his word, and hear how he'd whine if I gave him a cheque for the month's rent only. What are those two famous items out of last year's bill?"
"Brunswick varnish, for the kitchen coal-scuttle, 2d.; and a pair of brass stair-eyes, one lost and one damaged, 2d.," quoted Mrs. Grey seriously, as if the imposition was intolerable.
"Yes, yes. That's it. Brunswick varnish and stair-eyes," laughed Grey. "And at the end of all the items for damage was the general observation: 'The same being in excess of reasonable wear and tear.' Didn't he make us whiten all the ceilings, too, on the grounds that we stopped far into the season and blackened them with the lamps?"
"Yes, Wat."
"Is it three or four times we have paid, Bee, for cracking that soup-tureen? The old crack, you know."
"We've paid, I think, Wat, only twice for that crack, but he has charged us with the ladle every year, although we never had one."
"Why, this old Parkinson is much more amusing than a state-jester of old, and not half so impudent or expensive." Mr. Grey smiled, and rubbed his smooth cheek with his white hand. After a moment's enjoyment of his recollections of Parkinson, he returned to the question. "Well, Bee, will you go down in the Rodwell with me to-morrow evening? We can have a breath of sea-air, a look at Parkinson and the cottage, and come back by the boat in the morning."
"Very well, Wat. Of course I'll go with you."