There was a suggestion of reproach for his long absence in the former’s voice, and suggestion of reproach from her kindled him.  He explained his plunge under surface on the ground of work.  Details were immediately demanded, the plot of the new novel discussed and praised; there was flattery too in the diffident criticism of an incident here and there, and the sweetest foretaste of happiness in the joint rearrangement of the disputed chapter.  Mallinson was lifted on a billow of confidence.  He was of the type which adjusts itself to the opinions his company may have of him.  Praise Mallinson and he deserved praises; ignore him and he sank like a plummet to depths of insignificance, conscious of insignificance and of nothing more except a dull rancour against the person who impressed the knowledge on him.  That way Drake had offended unwittingly at the Grand Hotel; he had recognised no distinction between the Mallinson of to-day and the Mallinson of ten years ago.

Mallinson was asked to dinner on Friday of the next week.

‘Really,’ said the aunt after his departure, ’he is very clever.  I didn’t understand what he said, but he is very clever.’

‘Yes,’ said Clarice reflectively, ‘I suppose—­I mean of course he is.’

She spoke in a tone of hesitation which surprised her auditor, for hitherto Clarice had been very certain as to her impressions on the point.

At dinner on the following Friday Mallinson was confronted by Conway and had Mrs. Willoughby upon his right.  Mallinson liked Mrs. Willoughby, the widow of the black hair and blue eyes, now in the mauve stage of widowhood.  She drew him out of the secretiveness within which he habitually barred himself, and he felt thankful to her for his prisoner’s hour of mid-day airing.  Mrs. Willoughby spoke to Clarice, mentioning a private view of an exhibition of pictures at which she had seen Clarice.

‘Who was the cavalier?’ she added.

‘Mr. Drake,’ Clarice replied serenely.  ‘I met him there by accident.’  Mrs. Willoughby looked puzzled, and repeated the name in an undertone.

‘You don’t know him, I think,’ Clarice went on.  ’He comes here.  Papa asked him to call.  Captain Drake, I suppose we ought to call him, but he has dropped the Captain.’

Mrs. Willoughby started and shot a bewildered glance at Mr. Le Mesurier.

‘I like the man very much,’ said Mr. Le Mesurier, with a touch of championship in his voice.  ’You should meet him.  I am sure you would like him too.’

Mrs. Willoughby made no answer to the suggestion, and resumed her dinner in silence, while Conway sang his usual paean of praise.  After a little she turned to Mallinson.

‘Do you know this Mr. Drake?’

’Yes, we were boys together in the same suburb before he went to Africa.  It was unfortunately through me that he was asked to this house.  I had mentioned him as a friend of mine at one time, and Miss Le Mesurier invited me to bring him on the day he reached London.’