“I thought it probable,” said Vernon.

“He had to remain a couple of hours at the Railway Inn; no conveyance was to be found for him.  He thinks he has caught a cold, and cannot stifle his fretfulness about it.  He may be as learned as Doctor Middleton; he has not the same happy constitution.  Nothing more unfortunate could have occurred; he spoilt the party.  Mrs. Mountstuart tried petting him, which drew attention to him, and put us all in his key for several awkward minutes, more than once.  She lost her head; she was unlike herself I may be presumptuous in criticizing her, but should not the president of a dinner-table treat it like a battlefield, and let the guest that sinks descend, and not allow the voice of a discordant, however illustrious, to rule it?  Of course, it is when I see failures that I fancy I could manage so well:  comparison is prudently reserved in the other cases.  I am a daring critic, no doubt, because I know I shall never be tried by experiment.  I have no ambition to be tried.”

She did not notice a smile of Vernon’s, and continued:  “Mrs Mountstuart gave him the lead upon any subject he chose.  I thought the professor never would have ceased talking of a young lady who had been at the inn before him drinking hot brandy and water with a gentleman!”

“How did he hear of that?” cried Vernon, roused by the malignity of the Fates.

“From the landlady, trying to comfort him.  And a story of her lending shoes and stockings while those of the young lady were drying.  He has the dreadful snappish humourous way of recounting which impresses it; the table took up the subject of this remarkable young lady, and whether she was a lady of the neighbourhood, and who she could be that went abroad on foot in heavy rain.  It was painful to me; I knew enough to be sure of who she was.”

“Did she betray it?”

“No.”

“Did Willoughby look at her?”

“Without suspicion then.”

“Then?”

“Colonel De Craye was diverting us, and he was very amusing.  Mrs. Mountstuart told him afterward that he ought to be paid salvage for saving the wreck of her party.  Sir Willoughby was a little too cynical; he talked well; what he said was good, but it was not good-humoured; he has not the reckless indifference of Colonel De Craye to uttering nonsense that amusement may come of it.  And in the drawing-room he lost such gaiety as he had.  I was close to Mrs. Mountstuart when Professor Crooklyn approached her and spoke in my hearing of that gentleman and that young lady.  They were, you could see by his nods, Colonel De Craye and Miss Middleton.”

“And she at once mentioned it to Willoughby?”

“Colonel De Craye gave her no chance, if she sought it.  He courted her profusely.  Behind his rattle he must have brains.  It ran in all directions to entertain her and her circle.”

“Willoughby knows nothing?”

“I cannot judge.  He stood with Mrs. Mountstuart a minute as we were taking leave.  She looked strange.  I heard her say:  ‘The rogue!’ He laughed.  She lifted her shoulders.  He scarcely opened his mouth on the way home.”