"Yes， yes， thank you， Mr. Bingham. Elizabeth isn't very grand either， complains of a pain in her chest， a little bilious perhaps--she always is bilious in the spring.""And Miss Beatrice？"
"Oh， I think she's well--very quiet， you know， and a little pale， perhaps； but she is always quiet--a strange woman Beatrice， Mr.
Bingham， a very strange woman， quite beyond me！ I do not understand her， and don't try to. Not like other women at all， takes no pleasure in things seemingly； curious， with her good looks--very curious. But nobody understands Beatrice."Geoffrey breathed a sigh of relief. "And how are tithes being paid， Mr. Granger？ not very grandly， I fear. I saw that scoundrel Jones died in prison."Mr. Granger woke up at once. Before he had been talking almost at random； the subject of his daughters did not greatly interest him.
What did interest him was this money question. Nor was it very wonderful； the poor narrow-minded old man had thought about money till he could scarcely find room for anything else， indeed nothing else really touched him closely. He broke into a long story of his wrongs， and， drawing a paper from his breast pocket， with shaking finger pointed out to Geoffrey how that his clerical income for the last six months had been at the rate of only forty pounds a year， upon which sum even a Welsh clergyman could not consider himself passing rich.
Geoffrey listened and sympathised； then came a pause.
"That's how we've been getting on at Bryngelly， Mr. Bingham，" Mr.
Granger said presently， "starving， pretty well starving. It's only you who have been making money； we've been sitting on the same dock-leaf while you have become a great man. If it had not been for Beatrice's salary--she's behaved very well about the salary， has Beatrice--I am sure I don't understand how the poor girl clothes herself on what she keeps； I know that she had to go without a warm cloak this winter， because she got a cough from it--we should have been in the workhouse， and that's where we shall be yet，" and he rubbed the back of his withered hand across his eyes.
Geoffrey gasped. Beatrice with scarcely enough means to clothe herself --Beatrice shivering and becoming ill from the want of a cloak while /he/ lived in luxury！ It made him sick to think of it. For a moment he could say nothing.
"I have come here--I've come，" went on the old man in a broken voice， broken not so much by shame at having to make the request as from fear lest it should be refused， "to ask you if you could lend me a little money. I don't know where to turn， I don't indeed， or I would not do it， Mr. Bingham. I have spent my last pound to get here. If you could lend me a hundred pounds I'd give you note of hand for it and try to pay it back little by little； we might take twenty pounds a year from Beatrice's salary----""Don't， please--do not talk of such a thing！" ejaculated the horrified Geoffrey. "Where the devil is my cheque-book？ Oh， I know， I left it in Bolton Street. Here， this will do as well，" and he took up a draft note made out to his order， and， rapidly signing his name on the back of it， handed it to Mr. Granger. It was in payment of the fees in the great case of Parsons and Douse and some other matters. Mr. Granger took the draft， and， holding it close to his eyes， glanced at the amount； it was ā200.
"But this is double what I asked for，" he said doubtfully. "Am I to return you ā100？""No， no，" answered Geoffrey， "I daresay that you have some debts to pay. Thank Heaven， I can get on very well and earn more money than Iwant. Not enough clothing--it is shocking to think of！" he added， more to himself than to his listener.
The old man rose， his eyes full of tears. "God bless you，" he said， "God bless you. I do not know how to thank you--I don't indeed，" and he caught Geoffrey's hand between his trembling palms and pressed it.
"Please do not say any more， Mr. Granger； it really is only a matter of mutual obligation. No， no， I don't want any note of hand. If I were to die it might be used against you. You can pay me whenever it is convenient.""You are too good， Mr. Bingham，" said the old clergyman. "Where could another man be found who would lend me ā200 without security？" (where indeed！) "By the way，" he added， "I forgot； my mind is in such a whirl. Will you come back with me for a few days to Bryngelly？ We shall all be so pleased if you can. Do come， Mr. Bingham； you look as though you want a change， you do indeed."Geoffrey dropped his hand heavily on the desk. But half an hour before he had made up his mind not to go to Bryngelly. And now----The vision of Beatrice rose before his eyes. Beatrice who had gone cold all winter and never told him one word of their biting poverty--the longing for the sight of Beatrice came into his heart， and like a hurricane swept the defences of his reason to the level ground.
Temptation overwhelmed him； he no longer struggled against it. He must see her， if it was only to say good-bye.
"Thank you，" he said quietly， lifting his bowed head. "Yes， I have nothing particular to do for the next day or two. I think that I will come. When do you go back？""Well， I thought of taking the night mail， but I feel so tired. Ireally don't know. I think I shall go by the nine o'clock train to-morrow.""That will suit me very well，" said Geoffrey； "and now what are you going to do to-night？ You had better come and dine and sleep at my house. No dress clothes？ Oh， never mind； there are some people coming but they won't care； a clergyman is always dressed. Come along and Iwill get that draft cashed. The bank is shut， but I can manage it."
