Money went away from him as rain runs off the oiled surface of a
shiny mackintosh coat. And yet he had always plenty of it; eclipses he
might know, but they were partial; collapse might threaten, but it was
always delayed. He had still the best dinners, the best cigars, the
best brougham; was _bien vu_ in the best society: had the best
boot-varnish in London, and wore the most curly-brimmed hats, the envy
of every hatter but his own. To all outward seeming there was no more
fortunate prosperous man about town; the hard shifts to which he had
been put at times were known only to himself--and to one other man,
who had caught him tripping once, and found his account in the fact.
The pressure this man excited drove Gilly Jillingham nearly to
despair. He was really on the brink of ruin at this moment, although
he stood before Phillipa as reckless and defiant as when he had first
won her girlish affections, and thrown them carelessly on one side.
"How can I help you?" asked Phillipa, when he had repeated his news.
"I never imagined you could; but you take such an interest in me, I
thought you might like to know."
"And you have dragged me up to London simply to tell me this?"
"Certainly. You always took a delight in coming when I called."
It was evident that he had a strong hold over her.
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