And Bubbles?  Bubbles felt annoyed, uneasy, even obscurely hurt.  It often happens that an offer of marriage leaves a girl feeling lonely and oppressed.  Deep in her heart she knew she would never, never, never, become Mrs. Tapster.  On the other hand, she was aware that there were many people in the London set among whom she now lived and had her being, who would regard her as mad to refuse a man who, whatever his peculiarities, possessed enormous wealth.  If only she could have had a tenth part of James Tapster’s money without James Tapster, what a happy woman she would have been!

As it was, Bubbles told herself fretfully that she had no wish to be married.  She was not yet tired of the kind of idle-busy life she led; it was an amusing and stimulating life; and though she had her dark hours, when nothing seemed worth while, up to the present time there had been much more sunshine than shadow.  The girl was sufficiently clever and sensitive to realize her good fortune in the matter of Bill Donnington.  Sometimes, deep in her heart, she told herself that when she had drunk her cup of pleasure, amusement, and excitement to the dregs—­perhaps in ten years from now—­she would at last reward Donnington’s long faithful love and selfless devotion.  And rather to her own surprise, during the half-hour which followed Tapster’s uninspired proposal, Bubbles thought far more of Donnington than she did of the man who had just asked her to become his wife.

Sitting all alone in the hall, crouching down on a footstool close to the fire, for somehow she felt tired—­tired, and exhausted—­she made one definite resolution.  She would give up, as far as she was able, the practice of those psychic arts which she knew those who loved her believed to involve a real danger to her general well-being.  What had happened the afternoon before had frightened her.  She had been entirely unconscious of the awful phenomena which had taken place, and she was becoming seriously alarmed at her own increasing power of piercing the veil which hangs between the seen and the unseen.  What she had told Donnington during their talk in the old darkened church had been true:  she often felt herself companioned by entities who boded ill, if not to herself, then to those about her.  Since yesterday, also, there had hung heavily over her mind a premonition that she, personally, was in danger.  Now she told herself that perhaps the peculiar, disturbing sensation had only been a forerunner of James Tapster’s unexpected offer of marriage.

* * * * *

“What would you say to our all going out for a walk?” Luncheon was just over, and Varick was facing his guests.  The only one missing was Dr. Panton, who had gone up to his room, saying he had some work to do.

“I’m afraid it must be very wet and slushy,” said Blanche Farrow dubiously.  It had snowed in the night, and now a thaw had set in.

She had an almost catlike dislike of wet or dirt; on the other hand, she was one of those people who are generally willing to put aside their own wishes in favour of what those about them wish to do; and she saw that for some reason or other Lionel Varick wanted this suggestion of his to be carried out.