to him on that evening, the last of his brief, incredible happiness, when he sat with her alone in the drawing-room at Court House, and she had declared her belief in him, so she appeared to him now.  The unforgettable movements of her face, the sweet curve of her mouth (the upper lip so soft and fine that it seemed to quiver delicately with the rhythm of her pulses and her breath), the turn of her head, the lifting of her eyebrows, told him that she had kept no memory of his part in the things that had happened after that.

And he too forgot.  With Lucia sitting at his right hand, he forgot the woman sitting at his left; he forgot the house of bondage, and he forgot that other house where the wedding chamber yet waited for the bride.

“I should have known you anywhere.”  His eyes dropped and he said no more.

That act of recognition had only lasted a second; but it had made its mark.  Over the dim, fluttering table was the hush of a profound astonishment.  He neither saw nor felt it; nor did he hear Mrs. Downey scattering the silence with agitated apologies.

“You’ll excuse us beginning, Miss Harden; but it’s Mr. Rickman’s night at the theatre.”

Miss Harden looked at him again, lifting her eyebrows with that air of interested inquiry that he knew so well.  And yet, beyond those first half dozen words he said nothing.

“Silly boy,” said Mrs. Downey to herself, “why can’t he say he’s sorry he has to go.  I’m sure I gave him his opportunity.”  She was annoyed at his rudeness.

Whether he were sorry or not, he went at his appointed time.  He never knew how he got out of the room, nor how he had behaved before going.  He had simply looked at her, held her hand and left her.  And he had not said a word; or none at least that he could remember.

Miss Harden was, it seemed, the guest, or the ostensible guest, of Miss Roots.  And Miss Roots enjoyed herself, delighting openly in the recovery of the friend she had lost sight of for so many years.  But from Mrs. Downey’s point of view the Dinner that night was not exactly a success.  Mr. Rickman had behaved in an extraordinary manner.  Mr. Soper and Miss Bishop had never looked so—­well, so out of place and common.  And she could see that Mr. Spinks had taken advantage of the general consternation to help himself outrageously to ginger.

Lucia took her friend aside when it was over.  “You might have told me he was here,” said she.

“My dear, I didn’t know you knew him.”

“Then, did he never—­” Whatever Lucia was going to say she thought better of it.