“Who was that?” Elgar inquired, coming forward and seating himself on the corner of the writing-table.

“Mrs. Travis.  She has come to stay with friends at Hampstead.  But to bed, to bed!  You look like Hamlet when he came and frightened Ophelia.  Have you had an evil dream?”

“That’s the truth; I have.”

“What about?”

“Oh, a stupid jumble.”  He moved the lamp-shade, so that the light fell suddenly full upon her.  “Why have you made such friends all at once with Mrs. Travis?”

“How is your headache?”

“I don’t know—­much the same.  Did she ask you to take her home?”

“Yes, she did—­or suggested it, at all events.”

“Why has she come to Hampstead?”

“How can I tell, dear?  Put the lamp out, and let us go.”

He sat swinging his leg.  The snatch of uncomfortable sleep had left him pale and swollen-eyed, and his hair was tumbled.

“Who was there to-night?”

“Several new people.  Amedee Silvenoire—­the dramatist, you know; an interesting man.  He paid me the compliment of refraining from compliments on my French.  Madame Jacquelin, a stout and very plain woman, who told us anecdotes of George Sand; remind me to repeat them to-morrow.  And Mr. Bickerdike, the pillar of idealism.”

“Bickerdike was there?” Elgar exclaimed, with an air of displeasure.

“He didn’t refer to his acquaintance with you.  I wonder why not?”

“Did you talk to the fellow?”

“Rather pertly, I’m afraid.  He was silly enough to ask me what I thought of his book, though I hadn’t mentioned it.  I put on my superior air and snubbed him; it was like tapping a frog on the head each time it pokes up out of the water.  He will go about and say what an insufferable person that Mrs. Elgar is.”

Reuben was silent for a while.

“I don’t like your associating with such people,” he said suddenly.  “I wish you didn’t go there.  It’s all very well for a woman like your aunt to gather about her all the disreputable men and women who claim to be of some account, but they are not fit companions for you.  I don’t like it at all.”

She looked at him in astonishment, with bewildered eyes, that were on the verge of laughter.

“What are you talking about, Reuben?”

“I’m quite serious.”  He rose and began to walk about the room.  “And it surprised me that you didn’t think of staying at home this evening.  I said nothing, because I wanted to see whether it would occur to you that you oughtn’t to go alone.”

“How should such a thing occur to me?  Surely I am as much at home in aunt’s house as in my own?  I can hardly believe that you mean what you say.”

“You will understand it if you think for a moment.  A year ago you wouldn’t have dreamt of going out at night when I stayed at home.  But you find the temptation of society irresistible.  People admire you and talk about you and crowd round you, and you enjoy it—­ never mind who the people are.  Presently we shall be seeing your portrait in the shop-windows.  I noticed what a satisfaction it was to you when your name was mentioned among the other people in that idiotic society journal.”