“Yes—­no—­that is—­I’m afraid I don’t follow you,” stammered Paul.

There was a slight pout in her voice as she replied:  “No matter now—­we must follow them—­for our host is moving off with Lady Billingtree, and it’s our turn now.”

So great was the illusion that he found himself mechanically offering his arm as he moved through the empty room towards the door.  Then he descended the staircase without another word, preceded, however, by the sound of his host’s voice.  Following this as a blind man might, he entered the dining-room, which to his discomfiture was as empty as the salon above.  Still following the host’s voice, he dropped into a chair before the empty table, wondering what variation of the Barmecide feast was in store for him.  Yet the hum of voices from the vacant chairs around the board so strongly impressed him that he could almost believe that he was actually at dinner.

“Are you seated?” asked the charming voice at his side.

“Yes,” a little wonderingly, as his was the only seat visibly occupied.

“I am so glad that this silly ceremony is over.  By the way, where are you?”

Paul would have liked to answer, “Lord only knows!” but he reflected that it might not sound polite.  “Where am I?” he feebly repeated.

“Yes; where are you dining?”

It seemed a cool question under the circumstances, but he answered promptly,—­

“With you.”

“Of course,” said the charming voice; “but where are you eating your dinner?”

Considering that he was not eating anything, Paul thought this cooler still.  But he answered briefly, “In Upshire.”

“Oh!  At your uncle’s?”

“No,” said Paul bluntly; “in the next house.”

“Why, that’s Sir William’s—­our host’s—­and he and his family are here in London.  You are joking.”

“Listen!” said Paul desperately.  Then in a voice unconsciously lowered he hurriedly told her where he was—­how he came there—­the empty house—­the viewless company!  To his surprise the only response was a musical little laugh.  But the next moment her voice rose higher with an unmistakable concern in it, apparently addressing their invisible host.

“Oh, Sir William, only think how dreadful.  Here’s poor Mr. Bunker, alone in an empty house, which he has mistaken for his uncle’s—­and without any dinner!”

“Really; dear, dear!  How provoking!  But how does he happen to be with us?  James, how is this?”

“If you please, Sir William,” said a servant’s respectful voice, “Widdlestone is in the circuit and is switched on with the others.  We heard that a gentleman’s luggage had arrived at Widdlestone, and we telegraphed for the rooms to be made ready, thinking we’d have her ladyship’s orders later.”

A single gleam of intelligence flashed upon Paul.  His luggage—­yes, had been sent from the station to the wrong house, and he had unwittingly followed.  But these voices! whence did they come?  And where was the actual dinner at which his host was presiding?  It clearly was not at this empty table.