‘Oh, yes you did, really, Mr. Twemlow,’ echoed Millicent.

‘Did I?’ he said, accepting the tribute with frank satisfaction.  ’I used to collect once at Talmage’s Church in Brooklyn—­you’ve heard Talmage over here of course.’  He faintly indicated contempt for Talmage.  ’And after my first collection he sent for me into the church parlour, and he said to me:  “Mr. Twemlow, next time you collect, put some snap into it; don’t go shuffling along as if you were dead.”  So you see this morning, although I haven’t collected for years, I thought of that and tried to put some snap into it.’

Milly laughed obstreperously, Leonora smiled.

At the corner they could see Mrs. Burgess’s carriage waiting at the vestry door in Mount Street.  The geologist, escorted by Harry Burgess, got into the carriage, where Mrs. Burgess already sat; Harry followed him, and the stately equipage drove off.  Dr. Quain had married a cousin of Mrs. Burgess’s late husband, and he invariably stayed at her house.  All this had to be explained to Arthur Twemlow, who made a point of being curious.  By the time they had reached the top of Oldcastle Street, Leonora felt an impulse to ask him without ceremony to walk up to Hillport and have dinner with them.  She knew that she and Milly were pleasing him, and this assurance flattered her.  But she could not summon the enterprise necessary for such an unusual invitation; her lips would not utter the words, she could not force them to utter the words.

He hesitated, as if to leave them; and quite automatically, without being able to do otherwise, Leonora held her hand to bid good-bye; he took it with reluctance.  The moment was passing, and she had not even asked him where he was staying:  she had learnt nothing of the man of whom Meshach had warned her husband to beware.

‘Good morning,’ he said, ‘I’m very glad to have met you.  Perhaps——­’

‘Won’t you come and see us this afternoon, if you aren’t engaged?’ she suggested quickly.  ‘My husband will be anxious to meet you, I know.’

He appeared to vacillate.

‘Oh, do, Mr. Twemlow!’ urged Milly, enchanted.

‘It’s very good of you,’ he said, ’I shall be delighted to call.  It’s quite a considerable time since I saw Mr. Stanway.’  He laughed.  This was his first reference to John.

‘I’m so glad you asked him, ma,’ said Milly, as they walked down Oldcastle Street.

‘Your father said we must be polite to Mr. Twemlow,’ her mother replied coldly.

‘He’s frightfully rich, I’m sure,’ Milly observed.

At dinner Leonora told John that Arthur Twemlow was coming.

‘Oh, good!’ he said:  nothing more.

* * * * *

In the afternoon the mother and her eldest and youngest, supine and exanimate in the drawing-room, were surprised into expectancy by the sound of the front-door bell before three o’clock.