He did not know why he asked the question, but he asked it. It was the
first thing he had said consciously since he was in the room. He had
had an odd feeling that she wished him to ask the question. She smiled.
"Quite all right. I will count it if you like, but I assure you it's
right. Would you rather I counted it, or would you like to count it
yourself?"
"No; it doesn't matter, so long as it's right."
He was conscious that a piece of paper was on the table in front of
him, and that he had a pen between his fingers, though he was not sure
how either of them had got there. She pointed to the paper with her
finger.
"Sign here. Just put your name--Jocelyn Kingstone. My dear boy, how
your hand does shake!"
He was aware that it shook, but he was not aware of the glance that the
lady exchanged with the gentleman who was on the other side of the
table, to whom, when he had made an end of writing, she handed the
sheet of paper.
"What a scrawl! Jocelyn, your writing's getting worse and worse." Then,
to the elderly gentleman: "I'm afraid my husband's signature is not a
very easy one to read."
The elderly gentleman surveyed the performance through a pair of
gold-rimmed pince-nez smilingly.
"It isn't very legible, is it? Your signature is not very legible, Sir
Jocelyn; it would take an expert to decipher it. Would you mind, Lady
Kingstone, witnessing the fact that it is your husband's signature?"
"Do I mind? Of course I don't." She laughed as if she appreciated the
joke of the suggestion. "There--'Witness, Helena Kingstone,'--I think
you will be able to read that."
"That certainly is legible enough. You write a good bold hand, Lady
Kingstone, the sort of hand I like a woman to write."
When the pair had left the room the elderly gentleman said to a younger
one who was seated at a table to one side:
"That's a sad case, a very sad case indeed. That is quite a charming
woman, and not bad-looking; while he--he's the sort of person who, in a
better ordered state of society, would be consigned to a lethal chamber
at the earliest possible moment. Upon my word, I often wonder what
makes a woman marry such a man. Fancy, at this time of day, drunk."
The younger man seemed to consider before he spoke.
"It struck me that he was something else as well as drunk. He didn't
carry himself like an ordinary drunken man. He seemed to be under the

 Prev. P 30/211 next