“Immense luck, finding you both,” remarked the Duke when he was seated.

“We have been reading.  It is so pleasant here,” said Margaret, to say something.

“I have come to thank you for your kind note, Countess.  It is extremely good of you to go in such a party, with your taste for literature and those sort of things.”

“I am sure it is I who ought to thank you, Duke.  But when are we to sail?”

“About the tenth of next month, I should say.  Will that be convenient?”

Margaret turned to Claudius.

“Do you think we can finish our book by the tenth, Dr. Claudius?”

“If not,” broke in the Duke, “there is no reason why you should not finish it on board.  We shall have lovely weather.”

“Oh no!” said Margaret, “we must finish it before we start.  I could not understand a word of it alone.”

“Alone?” inquired the Duke.  “Ah!  I forgot.  Thought he had told you.  I have asked Dr. Claudius to give us the pleasure of his company.”

“Oh, indeed!” said Margaret.  “That will be very nice.”  She did not look as if she thought so, however.  Her expression was not such as led the Duke to believe she was pleased, or Claudius to think she would like his going.  To tell the truth, she was annoyed for more than one reason.  She thought the Duke, although he was such an old friend, should have consulted her before making up the list of men for the party.  She was annoyed with Claudius because he had not told her he was going, when he really thought she knew it, and was displeased at it.  And most of all, she was momentarily disconcerted at being thus taken off her guard.  Besides, the Duke must have supposed she liked Claudius very much, and he had perhaps contrived the whole excursion in order to throw them together.  Her first impulse was to change her mind and not go after all.

Meanwhile Claudius was much astonished at the turn things had taken.  Margaret had known nothing about the invitation to the Doctor after all, and her coldness this morning must be attributed to some other cause.  But now that she did know she looked less pleased than ever.  She did not want him.  The Doctor was a proud man in his quiet way, and he was, moreover, in love, not indeed hopelessly as yet, for love is never wholly irrevocable until it has survived the crucial test, attainment of its object; but Claudius loved, and he knew it.  Consequently his pride revolted at the idea of thrusting himself where he was not wanted, and his love forbade him to persecute the woman he worshipped.  He also said to himself, “I will not go.”  He had not yet accepted the invitation.

“I had intended to write to you this afternoon,” he said, turning to the Duke.  “But since it is my good fortune to be able to thank you in person for your kind invitation, let me do so now.”

“I hope you are going,” said the Duke.

“I fear,” answered Claudius, “that I shall be prevented from joining you, much as I would like to do so.  I have by no means decided to abandon my position in Heidelberg.”