"Money!" his wife repeated, and gazed upon him with alarm in her eyes.
"Money--I gave you a cheque for ten pounds on Monday. How much of it is left?"
Most of it had gone in expenses for the dance. "I have only about thirty shillings left, William." Without knowing why, her voice, like his, had sunk to the tone of mystery.
She hesitated, fearfully questioning: "Has anything--?"
"Never mind now. Get it. Get all you can lay your hands on. Quick!"
Her purse was in the pocket hidden in the many folds of her silk dress. There was not quite so much in it as she had reckoned; she slipped the sovereign and few shillings with trembling fingers into his hand.
"I could ask Bernard, and Bessie, William."
"No! I won't take their money," he said. "This will get me to London."
Not the prospect of the sudden journey, but the something secret and horribly unfamiliar in his manner frightened her. He came a step further into the hall and picking up a dark muffler from a chair, wound it round his neck. She saw that his face was livid, and looked suddenly flabby, and that his hands were shaking.
As he turned to the door, she laid a hand on his arm. "Something is wrong. I have felt it all the evening. Tell me, have you had losses, William?"
He nodded, without looking at her. "That's about the tune of it."
"I've told you now. You'll hear about it soon enough."
She gripped his arm. "Don't go like this! Whatever it is, don't run away. Is it very bad? Is it--" the word that stood for the worst business misfortune she could imagine, trembled and died on her lips--"is it _Failure_?"
He pulled his muffler about his face, his hat lower upon his brow: "You've hit it," he said. "It's that."
Her hand slid from his coat-sleeve, he slipped through the half-open door, and shuffled down the three white steps which led to the silent street. Then, as white, half-stupefied, she watched him, he turned and climbed the steps again and stood beside her.
"You had better go to George Boult," he said. "Boult will tell you what to do. Are you listening? Go to Boult."
"But aren't you coming back to-morrow, William? You can't leave us like this! You must come back!"
He was going down the steps again. There was a moon clear in a frosty sky. How white the steps shone! For all her life she remembered the big, unwieldy figure of her husband shuffling down them.