An atmosphere of gloom settled around Poopendyke and Britton. They eyed me with a sort of pathetic wonder in their faces. As time went on they began to look positively forlorn and unhappy. Once or twice I caught them whispering in the hallway. On seeing me they assumed an air of nonchalance that brought a grim smile to my lips. I was beginning to hate them. Toward the end of the second day, the four Schmicks became so aggravatingly doleful that I ordered them, one and all, to keep out of my sight. Even the emotionless Hawkes and the perfect Blatchford were infected. I don't believe I've ever seen a human face as solemnly respectful as Hawkes' was that night at dinner. He seemed to be pitying me from the bottom of his heart. It was getting on my nerves. I took a stroll in the courtyard after dinner, and I may be forgiven I hope for the few surreptitious glances I sent upwards in the direction of the rear windows in the eastern wing. I wondered what she was doing, and what she was thinking of my extraordinary behaviour, and why the deuce she hadn't sent down to ask me to come up and tell her how busy I was. She had not made a single sign. The omission was not particularly gratifying, to say the least. Approaching the servants' hall, I loitered. I heard voices, a mixture of tongues. Britton appeared to be doing the most of the talking. Gradually I became aware of the fact that he was explaining to the four Schmicks the meaning of an expression in which must have been incorporated the words "turned him down." Hawkes, the impeccable Hawkes, joined in. "If I know anything about it, I'd say she has threw the 'ooks into 'im." Then they had to explain _that_ to Conrad and Gretel, who repeated "Ach, Gott" and other simple expletives in such a state of misery that I could almost detect tears in their voices. "It ain't that, Mr. 'Awkes," protested Britton loyally. "He's lost his nerve, that's wot it is. They allus do when they realise 'ow bad they're hit. Turn 'im down? Not much, Mr. 'Awkes. Take it from me, Mr. 'Awkes, he's not going to give 'er the _chawnce_ to turn 'im down." "Ach, Gott!" said Gretel. I will stake my head that she wrung her hands. "Women is funny," said Hawkes. (I had no idea the wretch was so ungrammatical.) "You can't put your finger on 'em ever. While I 'aven't seen much of the Countess during my present engagement, I will say this: she has a lot more sense than people give 'er credit for. Now why should she throw the 'ooks into a fine, upstanding chap like 'im, even if he is an American? She made a rotten bad job the first time, mind you. If she has threw the 'ooks into 'im, as I am afeared, I can't see wot the deuce ails 'er."