of thing. There's really no
humbug about him. He's neither prig nor cad, though I used to think him
a little of both.'

Harvey reflected; revived his mental image of the capitalist, and still
found it very unlike the picture suggested by Hugh.

'Who _is_ Redgrave?' he asked. 'How did he get his money?'

'I know nothing about that. I don't think he's a university man. He
hinted once that he was educated abroad. Seems to know plenty of good
people. Mrs. Fenimore, his sister, lives at Wimbledon. Sibyl and I were
over there not long ago, dining; one or two titled people, a parson,
and so on; devilish respectable, but dull--the kind of company that
makes me want to stand up and yell. Redgrave has built himself what he
calls a bungalow, somewhere near the house; but I didn't see it.'

'You're a good deal at Coventry?' asked Rolfe.

'Off and on. Just been down for ten days. If it were possible, I should
go steadily at the business. I used to think I couldn't fit into work
of that sort, but a man never knows what he can do till he tries. I
can't stand doing nothing; that floors me. I smoke too much, and drink
too much, and get quarrelsome, and wish I was on the other side of the
world. But it's out of the question to live down yonder; I couldn't ask
Sibyl to do it.'

'Do you leave her quite alone, then?'

Carnaby made an uneasy movement.

'She has been visiting here and there for the last month; now her
mother wants her to go to Ventnor. Much better she shouldn't; they hate
each other--can't be together a day without quarrelling. Pretty plain
on which side the fault lies. I shouldn't think there are many women
better tempered than Sibyl. All the time we've been married, and all
we've gone through, I have never once seen an unpleasant look on her
face--to _me_, that is. It's something to be able to say that. Mrs.
Larkfield is simply intolerable. She's always either whining or in a
fury. Can't talk of anything but the loss of her money.'

'That reminds me,' interposed Harvey. 'Do you know that there seems to
be a chance of getting something out of the great wreck?'

'What? Who says so?'

'Mrs. Frothingham. The creditors come first, of course. Was your wife
creditor or shareholder?'

'Why, both.'

'Then she may hear something before long. I don't pretend to understand
the beastly affair, but Mrs. Frothingham wrote to us about it the day
before yesterday, with hints of eighteenpence in the pound, which she
seemed