“It was the nose!” He looks round reproachfully at Neilson.  “Just see what you’ve let me in for!” says he.

“Don’t talk to me, sir!” cries his aunt indignantly.  “Make no excuses—­none need be made!  When one plays demoralizing games in daylight, one should be prepared for anything;” and with this she once more leaves the room.

“Ah, we should have played demoralizing games at midnight," says Mr. Gower, who doesn’t look half as much ashamed of himself as he ought, “then we should have been all right.”

Here somebody who is standing at one of the windows says suddenly: 

“It is clearing!”

“Is it?” cries Tita.  “Then I suppose we ought to go out!  But what a pity we couldn’t have another game first!”

She looks very sorry.

“You certainly seemed to enjoy it,” says Sir Maurice with a cold smile, as he passes her.

CHAPTER XVIII.

HOW TITA GETS A SCOLDING, AND HOW SHE REBELS AND ACCUSES SIR MAURICE OF BREACH OF CONTRACT.

“Can I come in?”

Rylton’s voice is a little curt as he knocks at his wife’s door.  It is not the door opening into the corridor outside, but the inner door that leads from her room to his, and to the dressing-room beyond.

“Yes, of course,” cries Tita pleasantly.

She is just on the point of dismissing her maid for the night—­the maid who has so little to do; no long hair to brush, only the soft little curly locks that cover her mistress’s head.  She has taken off Tita’s evening gown, and, now that the little locks have been carefully seen to, has taken off her dressing-gown also.  It occurs to Tita that she might as well take herself off as well, and as soon as possible.

This thought makes her laugh.

“You can go now, Sarah,” says she to the maid, who loves her; “and don’t bring me my tea before eight to-morrow, because I’m as sleepy as sleepy can be.”

She nods kindly to the dismissed maid, and, going to the door where Rylton is presumably standing, lets him in.

“How early you are!” says she, thinking of the glories of the smoking-room below.

“How late you are!” returns he.  “I half fancied you would have been asleep by this time!”

“Oh, well, I soon shall be!” says she.  “I was just going to say my prayers as you came in; after that it won’t take me a minute to get out of my clothes, and,” with a little laugh, “into my bed.”

Her clothes, as she stands at present, are so becoming that it seems quite a pity that she should ever get out of them.  Her neck and arms—­soft and fair and round as a little child’s—­are shining in the lamplight, and beneath them the exquisite lace petticoat she wears gives her the air of one who is just going to a fancy ball.  It is short enough to show the perfect little feet and the slender ankles beneath it.