For one reason I was rather grateful that my guests were so abstracted.  That reason was Elizabeth.  Her behaviour during dinner, to put it mildly, was disturbing and abnormal.  Every time she entered the room to change the plates or hand round the dishes she went through remarkable pantomimic gestures behind the unconscious William’s back.  She drew my attention to him by nods, winks, and significant gestures.  Once or twice she was impelled to clap her hand over her mouth and dash from the room in a spasm of uncontrollable mirth.  It was most unnerving; and what with William’s gloomy looks, Marion’s abstraction, and my constant fear that Elizabeth would spill gravy, custard or something of an equally clinging character, over William during her contortions behind him, I was relieved when the meal was ended.

[Illustration:  She dashed from the room in a spasm of mirth.]

William at once retired to the study with Henry, presumably for a chat, but chiefly, as I afterwards discovered, to remove his right boot for an hour’s respite.  He left early, limping heavily.

‘It is really most curious about William,’ I said to Marion as we sat alone in the drawing-room—­Henry having remained in the study to finish some work.  ’One can hardly conceive a reason strong enough to induce him to renounce his aboriginal mode of living and become so highly civilized almost in a day.’

Marion lowered her head, and I thought she looked self-conscious.  ’A man might do a thing like that for—­for love,’ she murmured.

I blushed slightly.  ’I scarcely think it’s more than a passing infatuation.’

‘I feel convinced it’s stronger than that,’ she replied tensely.

‘I hope not,’ I said in an alarmed tone.  ’It would be horrid to see the poor fellow in the throes of a hopeless passion.’

‘Perhaps after all it might not be quite hopeless,’ rejoined Marion softly.

I raised my head sharply.  ’I don’t think you are justified in that remark,’ I said stiffly, ’what you saw between him and me was only a little harmless fun.  As if, indeed, there is any man living who could make me forget dear old Henry for a minute——­’

‘You!’ exclaimed Marion with a start.  ’I wasn’t thinking of you, Netta.’

‘Then who——?’

‘I—­I—­was referring to—­myself.’  She put down her knitting on her knee and looked at me half defiantly, her cheeks flushed.

‘But, my dear Marion, when has he shown you the slightest attention?’ I was impelled to remark.  ’You have always professed the profoundest contempt for him.’

‘Not contempt, Netta.  I have remarked that he was untidy.’

’You said the other evening that you considered him to be the last man on earth a woman could like.’

’No doubt, dearest, but that was before I had discovered a woman kissing him.’

’Perhaps you regret it was not yourself in that enviable position, darling?’