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.