'Done? Nothing. To do something is polite for committing a crime. Could I have done something, do you think? Could I actually commit a crime? O Alec!—my dear Alec!—a crime? Well, the really important thing is that your troubles are over.'
'By Jove! They are only just beginning.'
'It is only money that troubles you. If it was conscience, or the sense of honour, I could not help you. As it is only money——how much, actually, will put a period to the trouble?'
'If I were to use Jagenal's promised thousand, I could really manage with two thousand more.'
'Oh! Then, my dear Alec, what do you think of this?'
She drew out of her pocket a new clean white bank-book, and handed it to him.
He opened it. 'Heavens, Zoe! What is the meaning of this?'
'You can read, Alec: it means what it says. Four thousand two hundred and twenty-five pounds standing to my credit. Observe the name—Mrs. Alexander Feilding—Mrs. Alexander Feilding—wife, that is, of Alec! Mrs. Elstree has vanished. She has gone to join the limbo of ghosts who never existed. Her adored Jerome is there, too.'
'What does it mean?'
'It means, again, that I have four thousand two hundred and twenty-five pounds of my own, who, the day before yesterday, had nothing. Where I got that money from is my own business. Perhaps Armorel relented and has advanced this money—perhaps some old friends of my father's—he had friends, though he was reputed so rich and died so miserably—have quietly subscribed this amount—perhaps my cousins, whom you forced me to abandon, have found me out and endowed me with this sum—a late but still acceptable act of generosity—perhaps my mother's sister, who swore she would never forgive me for going on the stage, has given way at last! In short, my dear Alec——'