Loveday, with instinctive delicacy, had lately kept from the farm;
and to Margaret, whose point of view was different, the words "false
friends" had occurred.

Passing through an alley of the forest, she was met by a man--a
park-keeper of Frankl's--a German Jew, who had once handed her a
note from Frankl. And he, on seeing her, said: "Here have I a letter
for your brother".

"Who from?" she asked.

"That may I not say".

When he handed her an envelope rather stuffed with papers, she went
on her flurried way; and soon Loveday was bowing before her in his
sitting-room at Priddlestone.

"You will be surprised to see me, Mr. Loveday," said she, panting.

"A little surprised, but most awfully glad, too. Is all well?"

"Oh, far from that, I'm afraid. But I haven't got any time--and, oh
my, I don't know how to say it,--but to be frank with you--could you
lend Richard two pounds--?"

Loveday coloured to the roots of his hair.

He could not tell her: "Open that envelope in your hand", for that
would have meant that it was he who had sent the L50 it contained;
and he had now only one sixpence in Priddlestone.