But when Markham appeared, this softness came to an end. George Gaunt picked himself up, and tried to look like a man of the world. He had to see some one at the Horse Guards, and he had some relations to call upon; but he would be very glad, he said, to dine with Lord Markham. It surprised Frances that her mother did not appear to look with any pleasure on this engagement. She even interposed in a way which was marked. “Don’t you think, Markham, it would be better if Captain Gaunt and you dined with _me_? Frances is not half satisfied. She has not asked half her questions. She has the first right to an old friend.” “Gaunt is not going away to-morrow,” said Markham. “Besides, if he’s out of sorts, he wants amusing, don’t you see?” “And we are not capable of doing that! Frances, do you hear?” “Very capable, in your way. But for a man, when he’s low, ladies are dangerous--that’s my opinion, and I’ve a good deal of experience.” “Of low spirits, Markham!” “No, but of ladies,” he said with a chuckle. “I shall take him somewhere afterwards; to the play perhaps, or--somewhere amusing: whereas you would talk to him all night, and Fan would ask him questions, and keep him on the same level.” Lady Markham made a reply which to Frances sounded very strange. She said, “To the play--perhaps?” in a doubtful tone, looking at her son. Gaunt had been sitting looking on in the embarrassed and helpless way in which a man naturally regards a discussion over his own body as it were, particularly if it is a conflict of kindness, and, glad to be delivered from this friendly duel, turned to Frances with some observation, taking no heed of Lady Markham’s remark. But Frances heard it with a confused premonition which she could not understand. She could not understand, and yet---- She saw Markham shrug his shoulders in reply; there was a slight colour upon his face, which ordinarily knew none. What did they both mean?