‘I’m not quite sure—­but I think it likely.’

Godwin turned to the neighbour of whose presence he was most conscious.

‘I hope your brother is well, Miss Moxey?’

Their eyes encountered steadily.

’Yes, he is quite well, thank you.  He often says that it seems very long since he heard from you.’

‘I’m a bad correspondent.—­Is he also in Devonshire?’

‘No.  In London.’

‘What a storm we are going to have!’ exclaimed Sylvia, looking to the window.  ’They predicted it yesterday.  I should like to be on the top of Westdown Beacon—­wouldn’t you, Miss Moxey?’

‘I am quite willing to go with you.’

‘And what pleasure do you look for up there?’ asked Warricombe, in a blunt, matter-of-fact tone.

‘Now, there’s a question!’ cried Sylvia, appealing to the rest of the company.

‘I agree with Mr. Warricombe,’ remarked her mother.  ’It’s better to be in a comfortable room.’

‘Oh, you Radicals!  What a world you will make of it in time!’

Sylvia affected to turn away in disgust, and happening to glance through the window she saw two young ladies approaching from the road.

‘The Walworths—­struggling desperately with their umbrellas.’

’I shouldn’t wonder if you think it unworthy of an artist to carry an umbrella,’ said Buckland.

’Now you suggest it, I certainly do.  They should get nobly drenched.’

She went out into the hall, and soon returned with her friends—­ Miss Walworth the artist, Miss Muriel Walworth, and a youth, their brother.  In the course of conversation Peak learnt that Miss Moxey was the guest of this family, and that she had been at Budleigh Salterton with them only a day or two.  For the time he listened and observed, endeavouring to postpone consideration of the dangers into which he had suddenly fallen.  Marcella had made herself his accomplice, thus far, in disguising the real significance of their meeting, and whether she would betray him in her subsequent talk with the Moorhouses remained a matter of doubt.  Of course he must have assurance of her disposition—­but the issues involved were too desperate for instant scrutiny.  He felt the gambler’s excitement, an irrational pleasure in the consciousness that his whole future was at stake.  Buckland Warricombe had a keen eye upon him, and doubtless was eager to strike a train of suspicious circumstances.  His face, at all events, should give no sign of discomposure.  Indeed, he found so much enjoyment in the bright gossip of this assembly of ladies that the smile he wore was perfectly natural.

The Walworths, he gathered, were to return to London in a week’s time.  This meant, in all probability, that Marcella’s stay here would not be prolonged beyond that date.  Perhaps he could find an opportunity of seeing her apart from her friends.  In reply to a question from Mrs. Moorhouse, he made known that he proposed staying at the Rolle Arms for several days, and when he had spoken he glanced at Marcella.  She understood him; he felt sure.  An invitation to lunch here on the morrow was of course accepted.