have been horrid to me. But the fact is that
I should not now have spoken to you at all, but that since we left
England I have had letters from a sort of partner of mine. In our
business things will go astray sometimes. It would be of great
service to me if I could learn what are your father's intentions."

"You want him to give you some money at once."

"It would not be unusual, dear,--when there is money to be given. But
I want you specially to ask him what he himself would propose to do.
He knows already that I have taken a home for you and paid for it,
and he knows--. But it does not signify going into that."

"Tell me everything."

"He is aware that there are many expenses. Of course if he were a
poor man there would not be a word about it. I can with absolute
truth declare that had he been penniless it would have made no
difference as to my suit to you. But it would possibly have made some
difference as to our after plans. He is a thorough man of the world,
and he must know all that. I am sure he must feel that something is
due to you,--and to me as your husband. But he is odd-tempered, and,
as I have not spoken to him, he chooses to be silent to me. Now, my
darling, you and I cannot afford to wait to see who can be silent the
longest."

"What do you want me to do?"

"To write to him."

"And ask him for money?"

"Not exactly in that way. I think you should say that we should be
glad to know what he intends to do, also saying that a certain sum of
money would at present be of use to me."

"Would it not be better from you? I only ask, Ferdinand. I never have
even spoken to him about money, and of course he would know that you
had dictated what I said."

"No doubt he would. It is natural that I should do so. I hope the
time may come when I may write quite freely to your father myself,
but hitherto he has hardly been courteous to me. I would rather that
you should write,--if you do not mind it. Write your own letter, and
show it me. If there is anything too much or anything too little I
will tell you."

And so the first lesson was taught. The poor young wife did not at
all like the lesson. Even within her own bosom she found no fault
with her husband. But she began to understand that the life before
her was not to be a life of roses. The first word spoken to her in
the train, before it reached Dover, had explained something of this
to her. She had felt at once that there would be trouble about money.