“Whom could I ask like this at the last moment?  No, I won’t go—­thank you all the same.  I’m not so keen on late hours and long train journeys as I used to be.  Go by yourself and you can tell us all about it afterwards.  Berns and I shall enjoy that as much as seeing it ourselves.  Shan’t we, Berns?” Clowes gave a short laugh:  he could not have expressed his opinion more clearly if he had called his wife a fool to her face.

“You weren’t so particular before you married me, my love.  When you ran that French flat with Yvonne you jolly well knew how to amuse yourself.”

“Girls do many things before they’re married,” said Laura vaguely.  “I know better now.”

“Oh, you know a lot.  She ought to go, Lawrence.  It’ll do her good.  Now you shall go, my dear, that’s flat.”

Lawrence began to wish he had held his tongue.  He had his own ends to serve, but, to do him justice, he had not meant to serve them at Laura’s expense.  But he had still his trump card to play.  “Surely we could find a chaperon?” he said gently, ignoring Bernard.  “What about the Staffords?  Hardly in Val’s line, perhaps.  But the child—­little Miss Isabel—­won’t she do?”

To his relief, Laura’s eyes lit up with pleasure.  “Isabel?  I never thought of her!  Yes, she would love to come!—­But, if she does, she must come as my guest.  You would never have asked her of your own accord, and the Staffords are so proud, I’m sure Val wouldn’t like you to pay for her.”  Again Bernard’s short, sardonic laugh translated the silence of his cousin’s constraint and dismay.

“Hark to her!  I’ll sort her for you, Lawrence.  She shall go, and you shall be paymaster.  Yes, and for the Stafford brat too.  Lawrence and I don’t understand these modern manners, my dear.  When we take a pretty woman out we like to do the treating.  Now cut along and see about the tickets, Lawrence.  You can ’phone from the post office.”

Lawrence had secured a box ten days ago, but he strolled out, thinking that the husband and wife might understand each other better when alone.  As soon as he was out of earshot Bernard turned on Laura and seized her by the wrist, his features altering, their sardonic mask recast in deep lines of hate.  “Why wouldn’t you go up alone?  That’s what he wanted.  Why have you saddled him with the little Stafford girl?  You can’t take her to dine in a private room.”

“It was because I foresaw this that I refused.  Why do you torment yourself by forcing me to go?”

“I?  What do I care?  Do you think I should shed many tears if you walked out of the house and never came back?  Think I don’t know he’s your lover? you’re uncommonly circumspect with your stable door! . . .  A woman like you!  Look here.”  He picked up the Persian dagger.  “See it?  That’s been used before.  I should like to use it on you.  I should like to cut your tongue out with it.  Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to stab you.”