that Audrey could not well be invited without Miss Ingate, who, sick of her old Moze, had rejoined Audrey in the splendour of the Hotel du Danube.  Mr. Gilman had somehow mentioned Miss Thompkins, whereupon Madame Piriac had declared that Miss Thompkins involved Miss Nickall, who after a complete recovery from the broken arm had returned for a while to her studio.  And then Mr. Gilman had closed the list, saying that six was enough, and exactly the right number.

“At what o’clock are you going for the drive?” asked Madame Piriac in her improved, precise English.  She looked equally at her self-styled uncle and at Audrey.

“I ordered the car for three o’clock,” answered Mr. Gilman.  “It is not yet quite three.”

The table with its litter of ash-trays, empty cups, empty small glasses, and ravaged sweets, and the half-deserted restaurant, and the polite expectant weariness of the priests and acolytes, all showed that the hour was in fact not quite three—­an hour at which such interiors have invariably the aspect of roses overblown and about to tumble to pieces.

And immediately upon the reference to the drive everybody at the table displayed a little constraint, avoiding the gaze of everybody else, thus demonstrating that the imminent drive was a delicate, without being a disagreeable, topic.  Which requires explanation.

Mr. Gilman had not been seen by any of his guests during the summer.  He had landed them at Boulogne from the Ariadne—­sound but for one casualty.  That casualty was Jane Foley, suffering from pneumonia, which had presumably developed during the evening of exposure spent with Aguilar in the leaking punt and in rain showers.  Madame Piriac and Audrey took her to Wimereux and there nursed her through a long and sometimes dangerous illness.  Jane possessed no constitution, but she had obstinacy, which saved her.  In her convalescence, part of which she spent alone with Audrey (Madame Piriac having to pay visits to Monsieur Piriac), she had proceeded with the writing of a book, and she had also received in conclave the rarely seen Rosamund, who like herself was still a fugitive from British justice.  These two had been elaborating a new plan of campaign, which was to include an incursion by themselves into England, and which had in part been confided by Jane to Audrey, who, having other notions in her head, had been somewhat troubled thereby.  Audrey’s conscience had occasionally told her to throw herself heartily into the campaign, but her individualistic instincts had in the end kept her safely on a fence between the campaign and something else.  The something else was connected with Mr. Gilman.