’No, my love.  I don’t think the position of a married woman discovered kissing a man other than her husband is enviable; do you?’

Marion’s obtuse and unreasonable attitude puzzled me.  I am quick tempered, and was about to reply hotly, when the door opened and Elizabeth entered.

‘Miss Marryun,’ she said, nodding mysteriously in the direction of my sister-in-law, ‘I bin lookin’ at the cards for you an’ I see a warnin’ in ’em.  You’ll ’ave to keep an eye on ’im if you want to keep ‘im.’

Marion did not look so mystified as I expected at this unusual outburst.  ‘Thank you for the warning, Elizabeth,’ she said in an affable tone.

’You gotta rival for ‘is affeckshuns,’ continued Elizabeth.

Marion raised an eyebrow in my direction.  ‘No doubt,’ she commented.

‘What is all this nonsense?’ I asked, a little testily.

‘Elizabeth is, as you know, a fatalist,’ explained Marion.  ’She places her faith in cards, which, I am repeatedly telling her, is utter nonsense.’

‘It aint nonsense,’ expostulated Elizabeth in an injured tone.  ’You gotta fair rival acrost your parth——­’

‘I’m glad I’m dark,’ I murmured.

‘Fair an’ false she is,’ continued the soothsayer, ’the words of ’er mouth are like ‘oney an’——­’

‘I tell you I consider all this rubbish,’ interrupted Marion briskly.  ’You would be far better not to believe in such foolish things, Elizabeth.  They do you no good.’

Elizabeth retired in some indignation, muttering, ’Well, don’t say you wasn’t told.’

We sat in strained silence—­for it was the first occasion there had been any hint of a tiff between us—­and after a time Marion rose to go.  When Henry had put on his overcoat to accompany her home she was nowhere to be found.  Hearing voices proceeding from the kitchen, I went in that direction.  It was then I heard Marion remark in a casual tone—­the casualness a little overdone:  ’You might let me hear if he says any more about it.’

‘Right-o, Miss.’

’And, oh, by the way, Elizabeth, what was that you said about a rival—­are you quite sure that she is fair?’

CHAPTER XVI

I should like to begin this chapter by saying it’s the unexpected that always happens.  As that, however, would be too trite a remark, I will only say that William was the last person on earth I should have suspected of falling in love with Gladys Harringay.

She is, indeed, exceedingly pretty in a fluffy kind of way and most men like to flirt with her, but they do not let their attentions develop into anything serious.  Perhaps you know the sort of girl she is.  She makes a dead set at every eligible man she meets and concentrates on him to such an extent that he ends by losing interest in her altogether—­actually avoiding her, in fact.  Man is like that, I’ve observed.  I suppose it’s the primitive instinct of the hunter which still lurks in him and makes him desire to stalk down his quarry instead of its stalking him.  Gladys didn’t seem aware of this supreme fact, and (though she affected the giddy airs of eighteen) she was getting perilously near the age when the country considers a woman is wise and staid enough to vote, yet she still remained unwed.