The Real Charlotte, 73 



but you know I don't understand such things," had been 

 her share of the transaction, and Mr. Lambert knew that 

 the refusal of her trustees to make the desired concession 

 would not ruffle so much as a feather ; but he wished he 

 could be as sure of the equanimity of his coachbuilder, one 

 of whose numerous demands for payment was lying upon 

 the table in front of him ; while others^ dating back five 

 years to the period of his marriage, lurked in the pigeon- 

 holes of his writing-table. 



Mr. Lambert, like other young gentlemen of fashion, but 

 not of fortune, had thought that when he married a well-to- 

 do widow, he ought to prove his power of adjusting himsell 

 to circumstances by expending her ready money in as dis- 

 tinguished a manner as possible. The end of the ready 

 money had come in an absurdly short time, and, paradoxical 

 as it may seem, it had during its brief life raised a flourish- 

 ing following of bills which had in the past spring given Mr. 

 Lambert far more trouble than he felt them to be worth, 

 and though he had stopped the mouths of some of the more 

 rapacious of his creditors, he had done so with extreme 

 difficulty and at a cost that made him tremble. It was 

 especially provoking that the coachbuilder should have 

 threatened legal proceedings about that bill just now, when, 

 in addition to other complications, he happened to have 

 lost more money at the Galway races than he cared to think 

 about, certainly more than he wished his wife and her rela- 

 tions to know of. 



Early in the afternoon he had, with an unregarding eye, 

 seen Charlotte drive by on her way to Gurthnamuckla ; but 

 after a couple of hours of gloomy calculation and letter- 

 writing, the realisation that Miss Mullen was not at her 

 house awoke in him, coupled with the idea that a little fresh 

 air would do him good. He went out of the house, some 

 unconfessed purpose quickening his step. He hesitated at 

 the gate while it expanded into determination, and then he 

 hailed his wife, whose poppy-decked garden-hat was pain- 

 fully visible above the magenta blossoms of a rhododendron 

 bush. 



" Lucy ! I wouldn't be surprised if I fetched Francie 

 Fitzpatrick over for tea. She's by herself at Tally Ho. I 

 saw Charlotte drive by without her a little while ago." 



