And the best of it was that the danger was all over already. There was no danger any
more. The supposed nephew's appearance had a purpose. He had come, full, full to
trembling--with the bigness of his news. There must have been rumours already as to
the shaky position of the de Barral's concerns; but only amongst those in the very
inmost know. No rumour or echo of rumour had reached the profane in the West-End--
let alone in the guileless marine suburb of Hove. The Fynes had no suspicion; the
governess, playing with cold, distinguished exclusiveness the part of mother to the
fabulously wealthy Miss de Barral, had no suspicion; the masters of music, of drawing,
of dancing to Miss de Barral, had no idea; the minds of her medical man, of her dentist,
of the servants in the house, of the tradesmen proud of having the name of de Barral on
their books, were in a state of absolute serenity. Thus, that fellow, who had
unexpectedly received a most alarming straight tip from somebody in the City arrived in
Brighton, at about lunch-time, with something very much in the nature of a deadly bomb
in his possession. But he knew better than to throw it on the public pavement. He ate
his lunch impenetrably, sitting opposite Flora de Barral, and then, on some excuse,
closeted himself with the woman whom little Fyne's charity described (with a slight
hesitation of speech however) as his "Aunt."
What they said to each other in private we can imagine. She came out of her own
sitting-room with red spots on her cheek-bones, which having provoked a question from
her "beloved" charge, were accounted for by a curt "I have a headache coming on." But
we may be certain that the talk being over she must have said to that young blackguard:
"You had better take her out for a ride as usual." We have proof positive of this in Fyne
and Mrs. Fyne observing them mount at the door and pass under the windows of their
sitting-room, talking together, and the poor girl all smiles; because she enjoyed in all
innocence the company of Charley. She made no secret of it whatever to Mrs. Fyne; in
fact, she had confided to her, long before, that she liked him very much: a confidence
which had filled Mrs. Fyne with desolation and that sense of powerless anguish which is
experienced in certain kinds of nightmare. For how could she warn the girl? She did
venture to tell her once that she didn't like Mr. Charley. Miss de Barral heard her with
astonishment. How was it possible not to like Charley? Afterwards with naive loyalty she
told Mrs. Fyne that, immensely as she was fond of her she could not hear a word
against Charley--the wonderful Charley.
The daughter of de Barral probably enjoyed her jolly ride with the jolly Charley (infinitely
more jolly than going out with a stupid old riding-master), very much indeed, because
the Fynes saw them coming back at a later hour than usual. In fact it was getting nearly
dark. On dismounting, helped off by the delightful Charley, she patted the neck of her
horse and went up the steps. Her last ride. She was then within a few days of her
sixteenth birthday, a slight figure in a riding habit, rather shorter than the average height
for her age, in a black bowler hat from under which her fine rippling dark hair cut square
at the ends was hanging well down her back. The delightful Charley mounted again to
