s, with a young man's
squeamishness, rather sick of her ferocity. He did not understand it.
Men do not accumulate hate against each other in tiny amounts,
treasuring every pinch carefully till it grows at last into a monstrous
and explosive hoard. He had run out after her to remind her of the
balance at the bank. What about lifting that money without wasting any
more time? She had promised him to leave nothing behind.

An account opened in her name for the expenses of the establishment in
Brighton, had been fed by de Barral with deferential lavishness. The
governess crossed the wide hall into a little room at the side where she
sat down to write the cheque, which he hastened out to go and cash as if
it were stolen or a forgery. As observed by the Fynes, his uneasy
appearance on leaving the house arose from the fact that his first
trouble having been caused by a cheque of doubtful authenticity, the
possession of a document of the sort made him unreasonably uncomfortable
till this one was safely cashed. And after all, you know it was
stealing of an indirect sort; for the money was de Barral's money if the
account was in the name of the accomplished lady. At any rate the
cheque was cashed. On getting hold of the notes and gold he recovered
his jaunty bearing, it being well-known that with certain natures the
presence of money (even stolen) in the pocket, acts as a tonic, or at
least as a stimulant. He cocked his hat a little on one side as though
he had had a drink or two--which indeed he might have had in reality, to
celebrate the occasion.

The governess had been waiting for his return in the hall, disregarding
the side-glances of the butler as he went in and out of the dining-room
clearing away the breakfast things. It was she, herself, who had opened
the door so promptly. "It's all right," he said touching his
breast-pocket; and she did not dare, the miserable wretch without
illusions, she did not dare ask him to hand it over. They looked at
each other in silence. He nodded significantly: "Where is she now?" and
she whispered, "Gone into the drawing-room. Want to see her again?"
with an archly black look which he acknowledged by a muttered, surly: "I
am damned if I do. Well, as you want to bolt like this, why don't we go
now?"

She set her lips with cruel obstinacy and shook her head. She had her
idea, her completed plan. At that moment the Fynes, still at the window
and watching like a pair of pri