For some minutes the lawyer sat silent, sipping his wine, and the husband sat silent, thinking his own thoughts.  The first change that came over the scene was produced by the appearance of a servant in the dining-room.

Mr. Vanborough looked up at the man with a sudden outbreak of anger.

“What do you want here?”

The man was a well-bred English servant.  In other words, a human machine, doing its duty impenetrably when it was once wound up.  He had his words to speak, and he spoke them.

“There is a lady at the door, Sir, who wishes to see the house.”

“The house is not to be seen at this time of the evening.”

The machine had a message to deliver, and delivered it.

“The lady desired me to present her apologies, Sir.  I was to tell you she was much pressed for time.  This was the last house on the house agent’s list, and her coachman is stupid about finding his way in strange places.”

“Hold your tongue, and tell the lady to go to the devil!”

Mr. Delamayn interfered—­partly in the interests of his client, partly in the interests of propriety.

“You attach some importance, I think, to letting this house as soon as possible?” he said.

“Of course I do!”

“Is it wise—­on account of a momentary annoyance—­to lose an opportunity of laying your hand on a tenant?”

“Wise or not, it’s an infernal nuisance to be disturbed by a stranger.”

“Just as you please.  I don’t wish to interfere.  I only wish to say—­in case you are thinking of my convenience as your guest—­that it will be no nuisance to me.”

The servant impenetrably waited.  Mr. Vanborough impatiently gave way.

“Very well.  Let her in.  Mind, if she comes here, she’s only to look into the room, and go out again.  If she wants to ask questions, she must go to the agent.”

Mr. Delamayn interfered once more, in the interests, this time, of the lady of the house.

“Might it not be desirable,” he suggested, “to consult Mrs. Vanborough before you quite decide?”

“Where’s your mistress?”

“In the garden, or the paddock, Sir—­I am not sure which.”

“We can’t send all over the grounds in search of her.  Tell the house-maid, and show the lady in.”

The servant withdrew.  Mr. Delamayn helped himself to a second glass of wine.

“Excellent claret,” he said.  “Do you get it direct from Bordeaux?”

There was no answer.  Mr. Vanborough had returned to the contemplation of the alternative between freeing himself or not freeing himself from the marriage tie.  One of his elbows was on the table, he bit fiercely at his finger-nails.  He muttered between his teeth, “What am I to do?”

A sound of rustling silk made itself gently audible in the passage outside.  The door opened, and the lady who had come to see the house appeared in the dining-room.