‘Just a notion or two.’

‘You have been very successful in America?’

’Successful; perhaps; we exclude extremes in our calculations of the still problematical.’

‘I am sure,’ said she, ‘you always have faith in your calculations.’

Her innocent archness dealt him a stab sharper than any he had known since the day of his hearing of her engagement.  He muttered of his calculations being human; he was as much of a fool as other men—­more!

‘Oh! no,’ said she.

‘Positively.’

‘I cannot think it.’

‘I know it.’

‘Mr. Redworth, you will never persuade me to believe it.’

He knocked a rising groan on the head, and rejoined ’I hope I may not have to say so to-night.’

Diana felt the edge of the dart.  ’And meditating railways, you scored our poor land of herds and flocks; and night fell, and the moon sprang up, and on you came.  It was clever of you to find your way by the moonbeams.’

‘That’s about the one thing I seem fit for!’

’But what delusion is this, in the mind of a man succeeding in everything he does!’ cried Diana, curious despite her wariness.  ’Is there to be the revelation of a hairshirt ultimately?—­a Journal of Confessions?  You succeeded in everything you aimed at, and broke your heart over one chance miss?’

‘My heart is not of the stuff to break,’ he said, and laughed off her fortuitous thrust straight into it.  ‘Another cup, yes.  I came . . .’

‘By night,’ said she, ’and cleverly found your way, and dined at The Three Ravens, and walked to The Crossways, and met no ghosts.’

‘On the contrary—­or at least I saw a couple.’

’Tell me of them; we breed them here.  We sell them periodically to the newspapers!’

’Well, I started them in their natal locality.  I saw them, going down the churchyard, and bellowed after them with all my lungs.  I wanted directions to The Crossways; I had missed my way at some turning.  In an instant they were vapour.’

Diana smiled.  ’It was indeed a voice to startle delicate apparitions!  So do roar Hyrcanean tigers.  Pyramus and Thisbe—­slaying lions!  One of your ghosts carried a loaf of bread, and dropped it in fright; one carried a pound of fresh butter for home consumption.  They were in the churchyard for one in passing to kneel at her father’s grave and kiss his tombstone.’

She bowed her head, forgetful of her guard.

The pause presented an opening.  Redworth left his chair and walked to the mantelpiece.  It was easier to him to speak, not facing her.

‘You have read Lady Dunstane’s letter,’ he began.

She nodded.  ‘I have.’

‘Can you resist her appeal to you?’

‘I must.’

’She is not in a condition to bear it well.  You will pardon me, Mrs. Warwick . . .’

‘Fully!  Fully!’

’I venture to offer merely practical advice.  You have thought of it all, but have not felt it.  In these cases, the one thing to do is to make a stand.  Lady Dunstane has a clear head.  She sees what has to be endured by you.  Consider:  she appeals to me to bring you her letter.  Would she have chosen me, or any man, for her messenger, if it had not appeared to her a matter of life and death?  You count me among your friends.’