Lady Sybil Crotin was not a popular woman. She was conscious that she had married beneath her--more conscious lately that there had been no necessity to make the marriage, and she had grown a little soured. She could never mix with the homely wives of local millionaires; she professed a horror of the vulgarities with which she was surrounded, hated and loathed her lord and master's flamboyant home, which she described as something between a feudal castle and a picture-palace; and openly despised her husband's friends and their feminine relatives.

She made a point of spending at least six months of the year away from Yorkshire, and came back with protest at her lot written visibly upon her face.

A thin, angular woman, with pale green eyes and straight, tight lips, she had never been beautiful, but five or six years in an uncongenial environment had hardened and wasted her. That her husband adored her and never spoke of her save in a tone of awe was common property and a favourite subject for local humour. That she regarded him with contempt and irritation was as well known.

In view of Lady Sybil Crotin's unpopularity, it was perhaps a great mistake that she should make herself responsible for the raising of funds for the local women's hospital. But she was under the impression that there was a magic in her name and station which would overcome what she described as shyness, but which was in point of fact the frank dislike of her neighbours. A subscription list that she had opened had a weak and unpromising appearance. She had with the greatest difficulty secured help for the bazaar, and knew, even though it had been opened by a duchess, that it was a failure, even from the very first day.

Had she herself made a generous contribution to the bazaar fund, there might have been a hope; but she was mean, and the big, bleak hall she had chosen as the venue because of its cheapness was unsuitable for the entertainment she sponsored.

On the afternoon of the second day, Lady Sybil was pulling on her gloves, eyeing her husband with an unfriendly gaze as he sat at lunch.

"It was no more than I expected," she said bitterly. "I was a fool ever to start the thing--this is the last time I ever attempt to help local charities."

Mr. Crotin rubbed his bald head in perplexity.

"They'll come," he said hopefully, referring to the patrons whose absence was the cause of Lady Sybil's annoyance. "They'll come when they hear what a fine show it is. And if they don't, Syb, I'll come along and spend a couple of hundred pounds myself."

"You'll do no such thing," she snapped; "and please get out of that ridiculous habit of reducing my name to one syllable. If the people of the town can't help to support their own hospital, then they don't deserve to have one, and I'm certainly not going to allow you to waste our money on that sort of nonsense."

"Have your own way, love," said Mr. Crotin meekly.

"Besides," she said, "it would be all over the town that it was your money which was coming in, and these horrid people would be laughing at me."

She finished buttoning her gloves and was looking at him curiously.

"What is the matter with you, John?" she asked suddenly, and he almost jumped.

"With me, love?" he said with a brave attempt at a smile. "Why, there's nothing the matter with me. What should there be?"

"You've been very strange lately," she said, "ever since you came back from London."

"I think I ate something that disagreed with my digestion," he said uneasily. "I didn't know that I'd been different."

"Are things well at your--factory?" she asked.

"At mills? Oh, aye, they're all right," he said. "I wish everything was as right as them."

"As they," she corrected.

"As they," said the humble Mr. Crotin.

"There's something wrong," she said, and shook her head, and Mr. Crotin found himself going white. "I'll have a talk with you when I've got this wretched bazaar business out of my head," she added, and with a little nod she left him.

He walked to the window of the long dining-hall and watched her car disappearing down the drive, and then with a sigh went back to his _entremets_.

When Colonel Dan Boundary surmised that this unfortunate victim of his blackmail would be worried, he was not far from the mark. Crotin had spent many sleepless nights since he came back from London, nights full of terror, that left him a wreck to meet the fears of the days which followed. He lived all the time in the shadow of vengeful justice and exaggerated his danger to an incredible degree; perhaps it was in anticipating what his wife would say that he experienced the most poignant misery.

He had taken to secret drinking too; little nips at odd intervals, both in his room and in his private office. Life had lost its savour, and now a new agony was added to the knowledge that his wife had detected the change. He went to his office and spent a gloomy afternoon wandering about the mills, and came back an hour before his usual time. He had not the heart to make a call at the bazaar, and speculated unhappily upon the proceeds of the afternoon session.

It was therefore with something like pleasure that he heard his wife on the telephone speaking more cheerfully than he had heard her for months.

"Is that you, John?" she was almost civil. "I'm bringing somebody home to dinner. Will you tell Phillips?"

"That's right, love," said Mr. Crotin eagerly.

He would be glad to see some new face, and that it was a new face he could guess by the interest in Lady Sybil's tone.

"It is a Mr. de Silva. Have you ever met him?"

"No, love, I've not. Is he a foreigner?"

"He's a Portuguese gentleman," said his wife's voice; "and he has been most helpful and most generous.............