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Now, too, the old question had come up again, and what was to be done? She had sheered him off the question that afternoon, but he would want to marry her, she felt sure of that. If she consented, what were they to live on? Her own juncture, in the event of her re-marriage, would be cut down to a thousand a year–she had four now, and was pinched on that; and as for Bottles, she knew what he had–eight hundred, for Sir Eustace had told her. He was next heir to the baronetcy, it was true, but Sir Eustace looked as though he would live for ever, and besides, he might marry after all.

For a few minutes Lady Croston contemplated the possibility of existing on eighteen hundred a year, and what Chancery would give her as guardian of her children in a poky house somewhere down at Kensington. Soon she realised that the thing was not to be done.

“Unless Sir Eustace will do something for him, it is very clear that we cannot be married,” she said to herself with a sigh. “However, I need not tell him that just yet, or he will be rushing back to South Africa or something.”

V

Sir Eustace and his brother carried out their programme. They dined together, and about half-past nine drove round to Grosvenor Street. Here they were shown into the drawing-room by the solemn footman, who informed Sir Eustace that her ladyship was upstairs in the nursery and had left a message for him that she would be down presently.

“All right; there is no hurry,” said Sir Eustace absently, and the man went downstairs.

Bottles, being nervous, was fidgeting round the room as usual, and his brother, being very much at ease, was standing with his back to the fire, and staring about him. Presently his glance lit upon the blue velvet curtains which shut off the room they were in from the larger saloon that had not been used since Lady Croston’s widowhood, and an idea which had been floating about in his brain suddenly took definite shape and form. He was a prompt man, and in another second he had acted up to that idea.

“George,” he said in a quick, low voice, “listen to me, and for Heaven’s sake don’t interrupt for a minute. You know that I do not like the idea of your marrying Lady Croston. You know that I think her worthless–no, wait a minute, don’t interrupt–I am only saying what I think. You believe in her; you believe that she is in love with you and will marry you, and have good reason to believe it, have you not?”

Bottles nodded.

“Very well. Supposing that I can show you within half an hour that she is perfectly ready to marry somebody else–myself, for instance–would you still believe in her?”

Bottles turned pale. “The thing is impossible,” he said.

“That is not the question. Would you still believe in her, and would you still marry her?”

“Great heavens! no.”

“Good. Then I tell you what I will do for you, and it will perhaps give you some idea of how deeply I feel in the matter; I will sacrifice myself.”

“Sacrifice yourself?”

“Yes. I mean that I will this very evening propose to Madeline Croston under your nose, and I bet you five pounds she accepts me.”

“Impossible,” said Bottles again. “Besides, if she did you don’t want to marry her.”

“Marry her! No, indeed. I am not mad. I shall have to get out of the scrape as best I can–always supposing my view of the lady is correct.”

“Excuse me,” said Bottles with a gasp, “but I must ask you–in short, have you ever been on affectionate terms with Madeline?”

“Never, on my honour.”

“And yet you think she will marry you if you ask her, even after what took place with me yesterday?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“Because, my boy,” replied Sir Eustace with a cynical smile, “I have eight thousand a year and you have eight hundred–because I have a title and you have none. That you may happen to be the better fellow of the two will, I fear, not make up for those deficiencies.”