stood on the step of the hotel, he saw the familiar
dog-cart driving towards him, and heard himself hailed in loud,
well-known tones.

"Halloa, Peignton! Heard you were here. Drove round to say how d'you
do." The Squire gave the reins to the groom. "I'll come inside and
have a smoke... Poor old fellow went off in a hurry, eh? S'pose you
are staying over the funeral?"

"Yes. Till Friday morning. I'm glad you called. I was going to ring
you up, and explain that I should have no time to pay calls..."

"No. No. Of course not. Son of the house; you'll have the whole show
on your hands. And Teresa, eh? Bit of lost time to make up, what?
Thought you were never going to turn up again... You know your own
business best, of course..."

"I do," Dane said firmly, but the Squire was not sensitive to rebuffs.

"Well!"--he said slowly--"that is as it may be. All the same, if you
leave things much longer, and she falls to pieces as she's been doing
lately, there'll be no Teresa left... Bad business this money trouble!
Who would have thought that solemn old buffer could have been such a
giddy owl?"

Dane sat, unlighted cigarette in hand, gazing at him in dismay.

"What money trouble?"

"Mean to say you don't _know_? They didn't tell you?"

"Not a word. Money was not mentioned."

"Odd!" The Squire cocked a suspicious eyebrow. "_Very_ odd,
considering your position. Evans told me. No secret about it. It's
over the whole place. The old man had been selling out shares, and
reinvesting under the advice of some unprincipled scoundrel. The old
story--a huge fraud, got up for the special benefit of rural investors,
ten per cent, interest, paid once; and then--smash! The poor old fellow
got the news at the breakfast table, called out to his wife that he was
ruined, and fizzled up, then and there. Had a stroke, and died in her
arms. Far as Evans understands there'll be nothing left for 'em but a
twopenny pension."

Dane was silent, digesting the startling news. The _menage_ at the
Cottage had suggested a comfortable, if modest income; in the one
official interview which he had had with the Major, he had been informed
that Teresa would eventually inherit some seven or eight thousand
pounds. Now, by all accounts, the prospective fortune had vanished, and
she was left penniless, dependent on--? On what? The answer to that
question came in a rush of tender understanding. Poor, poor, little
girl! Was _