Neither Margaret nor the Duke were in the least prepared for this piece of news.  The Duke was taken aback at the idea that any human being could refuse such an invitation.  Following on his astonishment that Margaret should not be delighted at having the Doctor on board, the intelligence that the Doctor did not want to go at all threw the poor man into the greatest perplexity.  He had made a mistake somewhere, evidently; but where or how he could not tell.

“Barker,” he said to himself, “is an ass.  He has made me muff the whole thing.”  However, he did not mean to give up the fight.

“I am extremely sorry to hear you say that, Dr. Claudius,” he said aloud, “and I hope you will change your mind, if I have to send you an invitation every day until we sail.  You know one does not ask people on one’s yacht unless one wants them very much, and we want you.  It is just like asking a man to ride your favourite hunter; you would not ask him unless you meant it, for fear he would.”  The Duke seldom made so long a speech, and Claudius felt that the invitation was really genuine, which gave his wounded pride a pleasant little respite from its aches.  He was grateful, and he said so.  Margaret was silent and plied her needle, planning how she might escape the party if Claudius changed his mind and went, and how she could with decency leave herself the option of going if he remained.  She did not intend to give people any farther chance of pairing her off with Claudius or any one else whom they thought she fancied, and she blamed herself for having given people even the shadow of an idea that such officious party-making would please her.

Claudius rose to go.  The position was not tenable any longer, and it was his only course.  The Countess bade him good morning with more cordiality than she had displayed as yet; for, in spite of her annoyance, she would have been sorry to wound his feelings.  The change of tone at first gave Claudius a thrill of pleasure, which gave way to an increased sense of mortification as he reflected that she was probably only showing that she was glad to be rid of him—­a clumsy, manlike thought, which his reason would soon get the better of.  So he departed.

There was silence for some minutes after he had gone, for Margaret and the Englishman were old friends, and there was no immediate necessity for making conversation.  At last he spoke with a certain amount of embarrassment.

“I ought to have told you before that I had asked those two men.”

“Who is the other?” she inquired without looking up.

“Why, Barker, his friend.”

“Oh, of course!  But it would have been simpler to have told me.  It made it rather awkward, for of course Dr. Claudius thought I knew he was asked and wondered why I did not speak of it.  Don’t you see?” she raised her eyes as she put the question.

“It was idiotic of me, and I am very sorry.  Please forgive me.”