“I know you are,” said Henrietta, pained and spiteful.  “You have always been particularly fond of yourself.”

“Very likely he resembles me in that respect.  In that case he will grow tired of himself and come back, and you will both coo like turtle doves until he runs away again.  Ugh!  Serve you right for getting married.  I wonder how people can be so mad as to do it, with the example of their married acquaintances all warning them against it.”

“You don’t know what it is to love,” said Henrietta, plaintively, and yet patronizingly.  “Besides, we were not like other couples.”

“So it seems.  But never mind, take my word for it, he will return to you as soon as he has had enough of his own company.  Don’t worry thinking about him, but come and have a game at lawn tennis.”

During this conversation they had left the drawing-room and made a detour through the grounds.  They were now approaching the tennis courts by a path which wound between two laurel hedges through the shrubbery.  Meanwhile, Smilash, waiting on the guests in his white apron and gloves (which he had positively refused to take off, alleging that he was a common man, with common hands such as born ladies and gentlemen could not be expected to take meat and drink from), had behaved himself irreproachably until the arrival of Miss Wilson and her visitors, which occurred as he was returning to the table with an empty tray, moving so swiftly that he nearly came into collision with Mrs. Jansenius.  Instead of apologizing, he changed countenance, hastily held up the tray like a shield before his face, and began to walk backward from her, stumbling presently against Miss Lindsay, who was running to return a ball.  Without heeding her angry look and curt rebuke, he half turned, and sidled away into the shrubbery, whence the tray presently rose into the air, flew across the laurel hedge, and descended with a peal of stage thunder on the stooped shoulders of Josephs.  Miss Wilson, after asking the housekeeper with some asperity why she had allowed that man to interfere in the attendance, explained to the guests that he was the idiot of the countryside.  Mr. Jansenius laughed, and said that he had not seen the man’s face, but that his figure reminded him forcibly of some one; he could not just then recollect exactly whom.

Smilash, making off through the shrubbery, found the end of his path blocked by Agatha and a young lady whose appearance alarmed him more than had that of Mrs. Jansenius.  He attempted to force his tray through the hedge, but in vain; the laurel was impenetrable, and the noise he made attracted the attention of the approaching couple.  He made no further effort to escape, but threw his borrowed apron over his head and stood bolt upright with his back against the bushes.

“What is that man doing there?” said Henrietta, stopping mistrustfully.

Agatha laughed, and said loudly, so that he might hear:  “It is only a harmless madman that Miss Wilson employs.  He is fond of disguising himself in some silly way and trying to frighten us.  Don’t be afraid.  Come on.”