Simon felt a little nervous at the prospect.  He had not seen the maid.  However, he hoped for the best, and assured Hugo of his delight.

‘I forgot to inform you, sir,’ he turned back to tell Hugo as he was leaving the room, ’Doctor Darcy called again to-day.  He has called several times the last few days.  He said he might look in again to-night.’

The bridegroom started.

‘If he should,’ Hugo ordered, ‘don’t say I’m in till you’ve warned me.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Three hours later the bride and bridegroom were finishing one of the distinguished Tortoni’s most elaborate dinners.  Tortoni had protested that it was destructive of the elementary principles of art to order a dinner for eight-thirty at seven o’clock.  However, he had not completely failed.  The waiters had departed, and Camilla, in dazzling ivory-white, was pouring out coffee.  Hugo was cutting a cigar.  They did not speak; they felt.  They were at the end of the brief honeymoon, and the day was at an end.  The last remnants of twilight had vanished, and through the eastern windows of the dome the moon was rising.  Neither the hour nor the occasion made for talkativeness.  Life lay before Hugo and Camilla.  Both were honestly convinced that they had not lived till that hour—­that hour whence dated the commencement of their regular united existence.  They looked at each other, satisfied, admiring, happy, expecting glorious things from Fate.

There was a discreet alarm at the door.  Simon came in.  It would have been a gross solecism to knock, but Simon performed the equivalent.  He paused, struck when he beheld Camilla, as well he might; for Camilla was such a vision as is not often vouchsafed to the Simons of this world.  She was peerless that evening.  And she smiled charmingly on him, and asked after his health.

‘Your coffee, dearest,’ she murmured to Hugo.

It occurred to Simon that the dome would never be the same again.  This miraculous and amazing creature was going to be always there, to form part of his daily life, to swish her wonderful skirts in and out of the rooms, to—­to—­He did not know whether to be glad or sorry.  He knew only that he was perturbed, thrown off his balance, so much so that he forgot to explain his invasion.

‘Well, Simon,’ said Hugo, ’had your dinner and been to the Morning Post office?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Alone?’

Simon blushed.

‘No, sir.’

‘Good.’

‘Doctor Darcy is here, sir.  Are you at home?’

Hugo had utterly forgotten about Doctor Darcy.  He glanced at his wife interrogatively, but Camilla looked at the moon through the window.

‘Show Doctor Darcy in in five minutes,’ said Hugo.

‘Poor old Darcy!’ exclaimed Camilla when they were alone.  ’Does he know?’

’Know what?  That we are married?  No.  I wrote to him nearly six months ago to tell him that you were safe and all that, and he acknowledged the letter on a postcard.  Afterwards I sent him that trifle of money that you owed him, and he sent a stamped receipt.’