They walked more rapidly up the avenue, and the barrister noted the graceful ease of Margaret’s movements.

“Is it a fact” he asked, “that you suffer from heart disease?”

She laughed, and said, with a certain charming hesitation: 

“You are both doctor and lawyer, Mr. Brett.  My heart is quite sound.  I have been foolish enough to seek relief from my troubles in morphia.  Do not be alarmed.  I am not a morphinee.  I promised Nellie yesterday to stop it, and I am quite certain to succeed.”

The dinner passed uneventfully.

As Brett was unable to change his clothes, neither of the ladies, of course, appeared in elaborate costumes.

Helen wore a simple white muslin dress, with pale blue ribbons.  Margaret, mindful of the barrister’s hint concerning her attire, now appeared in pale grey crepe de chine, trimmed with cerise panne velvet.

When she entered the drawing-room she almost startled the others, so strong was the contrast between her present effective garments and the black raiment she had affected constantly since her return to Beechcroft after her marriage.

“The reform has commenced,” she cried gaily, seeing how they looked at her.  “My maid is in ecstasies about the proposed visit to my dressmaker’s.  She insisted on showing me a study for an Ascot frock in the Queen.”

“Ah, she is a Frenchwoman?” said Brett.

“Yes; and pray what mystery have you elucidated now?”

“Not a mystery, but a sober fact.  A Frenchwoman must be in the mode.  Anybody else would have told you to copy yourself.  Fashions are a sealed book to me, but I do claim a certain taste in colour effect, and you have gratified it.”

“And have you nothing nice to say to me, Mr. Brett?” pouted Helen.

“So much that I must remain dumb.  I have a vivid recollection of Mr. Hume’s tragic air when he asked me to give you ‘his kind regards.’”

“The dear boy!  You have not yet told us why you left him in London.”

In view of Mrs. Capella’s outspokenness concerning her cousin, this was a poser.  Brett fenced with the query, and the announcement of dinner stopped all personal references.  The barrister’s eyes wandered round the dining-room.  The shaded candles on the table did not permit much light to fall on the walls, but such portraits as were visible showed that David was right when he said the “Hume-Frazers were all alike.”  They were a handsome, determined-looking race, strong, dour, inflexible.

The night was beautifully fine.  The day seemed loth to die, and the twilight lingering on the pleasant landscape tempted them outside, after the butler had handed Brett a box of excellent cigars.

They went through the conservatory into the park, and sauntered over the springy pastureland, whilst Brett amused the ladies by a carefully edited account of his visit to the Jiro family.

An hour passed in pleasant chat.  Then Miss Layton thought it was time she went home, and Brett proposed to escort her to the Rectory, subsequently picking up his conveyance at the inn.