“Yes.  It would take too long to explain, but . . .”  She stopped.  It had come to her suddenly, in a flash of clear vision, that the mistake was one which she had no desire to correct.  She felt like one who, lost in a jungle, comes out after long wandering into the open air.  For days she had been thinking confusedly, unable to interpret her own emotions:  and now everything had abruptly become clarified.  It was as if the sight of Geoffrey had been the key to a cipher.  She loved George Bevan, the man she had sent out of her life for ever.  She knew it now, and the shock of realization made her feel faint and helpless.  And, mingled with the shock of realization, there came to her the mortification of knowing that her aunt, Lady Caroline, and her brother, Percy, had been right after all.  What she had mistaken for the love of a lifetime had been, as they had so often insisted, a mere infatuation, unable to survive the spectacle of a Geoffrey who had been eating too much butter and had put on flesh.

Geoffrey swallowed his piece of cake, and bent forward.

“Aren’t you engaged to this man Bevan?”

Maud avoided his eye.  She was aware that the crisis had arrived, and that her whole future hung on her next words.

And then Fate came to her rescue.  Before she could speak, there was an interruption.

“Pardon me,” said a voice.  “One moment!”

So intent had Maud and her companion been on their own affairs that neither of them observed the entrance of a third party.  This was a young man with mouse-coloured hair and a freckled, badly-shaven face which seemed undecided whether to be furtive or impudent.  He had small eyes, and his costume was a blend of the flashy and the shabby.  He wore a bowler hat, tilted a little rakishly to one side, and carried a small bag, which he rested on the table between them.

“Sorry to intrude, miss.”  He bowed gallantly to Maud, “but I want to have a few words with Mr. Spenser Gray here.”

Maud, looking across at Geoffrey, was surprised to see that his florid face had lost much of its colour.  His mouth was open, and his eyes had taken a glassy expression.

“I think you have made a mistake,” she said coldly.  She disliked the young man at sight.  “This is Mr. Raymond.”

Geoffrey found speech.

“Of course I’m Mr. Raymond!” he cried angrily.  “What do you mean by coming and annoying us like this?”

The young man was not discomposed.  He appeared to be used to being unpopular.  He proceeded as though there had been no interruption.  He produced a dingy card.

“Glance at that,” he said.  “Messrs. Willoughby and Son, Solicitors.  I’m son.  The guv’nor put this little matter into my hands.  I’ve been looking for you for days, Mr. Gray, to hand you this paper.”  He opened the bag like a conjurer performing a trick, and brought out a stiff document of legal aspect.  “You’re a witness, miss, that I’ve served the papers.