There was a note of emotion in the tone which implied much. Penrose
assented heartily, remarking, however, that it was a magnificence which
seemed to have cost him dear, if, as no doubt was the case, it had won
him his wife.

"But now, with regard to money; you say he wants money. But surely, at
the time of the marriage, something was settled on him?"

"Certainly, a good deal. But from the moment she left him, and the
Heston bills were paid, he has never touched a farthing of it, and never
will."

"So that the General's death was opportune? Well, it's a deplorable
affair! And I wish I saw any chance of being of use."

French looked up anxiously.

"Because you know," the speaker reluctantly continued, "there's nothing
to be done. The thing's finished."

"Finished?" French's manner took fire. "And the law can do _nothing_!
Society can do _nothing_, to help that man either to right himself, or
to recover his child? Ah!"--he paused to listen--"here he is!"

A cab had drawn up outside. Through the lightly curtained windows the
two within saw a man descend from it, pay the driver, and walk up the
flagged passage leading to the front door.

French hurried to greet the new-comer.

"Come in, Roger! Here's George Penrose--as I promised you. Sit down, old
man. They'll bring us some tea presently."

Roger Barnes looked round him for a moment without replying; then
murmured something unintelligible, as he shook hands with Penrose, and
took the chair which French pushed forward. French stood beside him with
a furrowed brow.

"Well, here we are, Roger!--and if there's anything whatever in this
horrible affair where an English lawyer can help you, Penrose is your
man. You know, I expect, what a swell he is? A K. C. after seven
years--lucky dog!--and last year he was engaged in an Anglo-American
case not wholly unlike yours--Brown _v._ Brown. So I thought of him as
the best person among your old friends and mine to come and give us some
private informal help to-day, before you take any fresh steps--if you do
take any."

"Awfully good of you both." The speaker, still wrapped in his fur coat,
sat staring at the carpet, a hand on each of his knees. "Awfully good of
you," he repeated vaguely.

Penrose observed the new-comer. In some ways Roger Barnes was handsomer
than ever. His colour, the pink and white of his astonishing complexion,
was miraculously vivid; his blue eyes were infinitely more arresting
than of old; and