"What I don't like, Philip, is this, that your wife should have had to pay the premium to Tiplady. It looks mean--for us. What does the mother say?--and the Vicar?"
"The Vicar has said nothing to me: I don't think he intends to blow me up; he has been very good, I must confess. All he said to Maria was, that the money was her own and he could not interfere. As to the mother, Gunton, she knows nothing of my wicked folly; she thinks the twelve hundred pounds was all swallowed up by the mine. Maria went to Tiplady, and paid over the money without saying a word to anybody."
"Well, look here, Philip. I can't stand this: a Cleeve was never mean yet--at least in our day. I am not rich, as you know, but I can manage this much. I will pay the premium to Tiplady; that is, I will refund the money to Maria: and you had better let it be settled upon her. But I do it in the belief that you will never play at folly again: understand that, young fellow."
The tears had rushed to Philip's eyes.
"Oh, Gunton, you may trust me! How generous you are!"
When Philip had done thanking him, they began to talk of Captain Lennox and the suspicions attaching to him.
"Where is he now?" asked Sir Gunton.
"Nobody knows. He can't be found--by the police, or by anybody else. By the way, you knew him three or four years ago. Gunton."
"I knew him!" retorted Sir Gunton. "Knew Lennox!"
"Any way, you have seen him. You met him at Cheltenham, at Major Piper's. Young Conroy, a fellow up at Heron Dyke, told me that much. The Major had a card-party, and you and Lennox were both at it, he said; and the next day the Major's jewels were missing. If you recollect, you spent a few days at Cheltenham about that time."