The Countess Lavinia sat alone by the light of a solitary candle in the great drawing-room of Lyndwood House; it was four in the morning, and she had been an hour back from the masquerade; over her chair hung the brilliant domino, and her dress, even in this light, glimmered with the sheen of a jewel.

She leant back in the heavily brocaded chair, her small hands resting on the arms, her head turned towards the open long windows where the dark silk curtains slightly stirred in the night breeze. On the gilt table beside her rested an open letter.

It was perfectly still in the high shadowed room; the sense of night, mystery, and loneliness was complete; the small heart-shaped flame of the candle revealed dimly the face and figure of my lady, the table, and the letter; for the rest shadows and fluttering glooms obscured the handsome furniture, the massive ceiling, the carved walls.

Suddenly the Countess moved her head and looked towards the door. A light footstep sounded without; she moistened her lips and her hands tightened on the chair, then, as my lord softly entered, she turned her face away again.

“I was waiting for you,” she said, as he closed the door. “I could stay no longer at the masquerade. I found this letter when I reached home, and I thought I would wait up and speak to you.”

The Earl wore his domino and carried his mask.

“I saw a light in here,” he answered. “Why must you speak to me to-night? It is late.”

There was no expression on her painted face.

“We do not see each other often, do we, my lord? And to-night I am in the mood——”

He flung cloak and vizard on to a chair.

“For what?” he asked.

She looked at him for the first time, and sat up, shrugging her shoulders.

“For anything,” she said. She pulled her handkerchief out and pressed it to her brilliant lips; the roses, ribbons, and pearls in her high-piled grey curls shone in the flickering flame.

My lord drew off his gloves.

“What is the letter, madam?” He gave her a sideways look out of weary, reckless eyes.

“From my father.” She took the handkerchief from her mouth and there was a stain of carmine on it. “He is just back from Holland, where he hath been to take up some monies due to him.”

“I know,” said the Earl. “I think this news can wait.”

“It is no news, my lord; you are aware that my father’s fortunes——”

“Will not bear the strain of my extravagance?” He placed his tasselled gauntlets down beside the silver candle-stick and the letter. “Well, he has said so.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You are very cool; what do you propose to do?”

The Earl gave her a slow smile.

“How often people ask that,” he remarked. “I propose, madam, nothing.”

“I suppose you have said that before,” answered the Countess, “but you have saved yourself nevertheless; that way is closed now, however, you cannot marry an heiress again.”

He crossed to the mantelshelf and rested his elbow there, taking his cheek in his hand; the little pale light was yet enough to disclose the languid reckless beauty of his face.

“Why waste your bitterness on these obvious comments, madam?” he asked. “Whatever my affairs may be, you and I cannot better them by discussion.”

“Your affairs!” she echoed. “Do they not also concern me? My father crippled himself to pay your debts a year ago, and hath spent a swinging fortune since.”

“Doth he think me too dear?” smiled the Earl. “Well, it was his bargain.”

“I am not talking of him, but of myself.”

Her husband fixed his scornful grey eyes on the contained malice of her delicate face.

“You knew you were not marrying a prudent man, madam, my reputation was easy to come at; if we made a mistake it was an irrevocable one. Till now we have at least avoided the folly of telling each other so.”

She returned his glance, straightly and keenly; her fine nostrils were distended, and against the pallor of her hollow cheeks the patches of rouge looked vivid and unnatural.

“It has been very easy for you,” she said. “I have not touched your life at all, I merely stand for that vulgarity—money; but money is something that cannot always be ignored, and you must face it now, it and me, my lord.”

The Earl spoke in a low voice.

“What does your father say?”

“He writes like a man possessed”—her slight hand touched the open letter. “The Dutch bank has failed, the East Indian ships are lost, he thinks his liabilities will be more than he can meet, unless he can negotiate some loan; but,” she lifted her thin shoulders out of the glittering gown, “I have no doubt we are ruined. He curses me,” she added, “and talks of Bedlam; he hath always dwelt on that matter of madness in our family.”

Her brilliant wrathful eyes turned to the Earl’s colourless face.

“What are our assets?” she asked. “Your post in the Ministry and Pelham on the verge of impeachment! Your impoverished estates, half entailed, the furniture, jewels, horses—worth a few thousands—not enough to satisfy a quarter of the creditors; what is before us?”

“You know as well as I,” he answered. “And do not blame me wholly, madam; you have not lived like an anchorite.”

“What you have lost on one night would furnish my needs for months; and there is your mother, your cousin.”

A swift colour flew into my lord’s face.

“Miss Chressham is in an independent position, madam.”

“Is your brother, Captain Lyndwood?”

She tossed the name at him with an indescribable air of insolence and insult; he drew a deep breath.

“I think we will not speak of him.”

“Why not? He has cost you somewhat, your marriage did him good service.”

“The best service I ever rendered Marius,” interrupted my lord, “was when I prevented him from making you his wife, madam.”

The Countess quivered.

“That was an unconscious favour,” she cried. “You married me for my money, for nothing else.”

“For nothing else,” he repeated, his attitude unchanged, his voice unaltered. “What other reason, madam, should I have had?”

She pressed her hands to her tight bodice.

“You glossed it with self-sacrifice, it was to save your brother, your mother, the estates—anything but for yourself, because you could not face life without money.”

Again the uncontrollable colour betrayed my lord, suffusing his face painfully.

“Why are you saying this?”

“Oh, I have been longing to say it ever since we were married; I think I have my chance now”—her voice trembled with passion—“ever since you ordered me from the room. Do you remember—that night you brought me home, and your brother turned his back on me?”

“By God,” cried the Earl, “this is intolerable; are we to exchange recriminations?” He moved towards her. “I have that on my mind makes you and your father and his damned money of no moment to me.”

The Countess rose, sweeping the flame-coloured domino to the floor.

“Ah, Miss Boyle!” she said through her teeth. “She was at the ball to-night.”

“I will not endure this from you, madam.”

“That is monstrous amusing,” cried the Countess, and her eyes flew wide. “Do you imagine that I do not know——”

“And I also—I know, who wrote the paragraph in the Gazette.”

She was obviously startled, taken with a quick utter surprise; she stared at him as if she hoped to read some explanation of his words in his pale face.

“Did you imagine,” continued my lord, “that I could live a year in the same house with you and not be aware that you read my letters and set your servant to spy o............