'But--' she looked again at what she had in her hand--'but this is a
five-pound note.'
'Five-pound note,' said his lordship. 'Quite right. Three more of
them in here.'
Still, she could not understand.
'But--were you--stealing them?'
His lordship drew himself up.
'No,' he said, 'no, not stealing, no!'
'Then--?'
'Like this. Before dinner. Old boy friendly as you please--couldn't
do enough for me. Touched him for twenty of the best, and got away
with it. So far, all well. Then, met you on stairs. You let cat out
of bag.'
'But why--? Surely--!'
His lordship gave the drawer a dignified wave.
'Not blaming you,' he said, magnanimously. 'Not your fault;
misfortune. You didn't know. About letter.'
'About the letter?' said Molly. 'Yes, what was the trouble about the
letter? I knew something was wrong directly I had said that I wrote
it.'
'Trouble was,' said his lordship, 'that old boy thought it was love-
letter. Didn't undeceive him.'
'You didn't tell him? Why?'
His lordship raised his eyebrows.
'Wanted touch him twenty of the best,' he explained, simply.
For the life of her, Molly could not help laughing.
'Don't laugh,' protested his lordship, wounded. 'No joke. Serious.
Honor at stake.'
He removed the three notes, and replaced the drawer.
'Honor of the Dreevers!' he added, pocketing the money.
Molly was horrified.
'But, Lord Dreever!' she cried. 'You can't! You musn't! You can't be
going, really, to take that money! It's stealing! It isn't yours!
You must put it back.'
His lordship wagged a forefinger very solemnly at her.
'That,' he said, 'is where you make error! Mine! Old boy gave them
to me.'
'Gave them to you? Then, why did you break open the drawer?'
'Old boy took them back again--when he found out about letter.'
'Then, they don't belong to you.'
'Yes. Error! They do. Moral right.'
Molly wrinkled her forehead in her agitation. Men of Lord Dreever's
type appeal to the motherly instinct of women. As a man, his
lordship was a negligible quantity. He did not count. But as a
willful child, to be kept out of trouble, he had a claim on Molly.
She spoke soothingly.
'But, Lord Dreever,--' she began. 'Call me Spennie,' he urged.
'We're pals. You said so--on stairs. Everybody calls me Spennie--
even Uncle Thomas. I'm going to pull his nose,' he broke off
suddenly, as one recollecting a forgotten appointment.
