As though the suppressed impatience of his tone had not escaped her, Mrs. Romayne found herself reminded at this point of something she had heard that afternoon during one of her visits. And she proceeded to place her little piece of news before Julian with every advantage that narration could give it, though her face looked rather thin and sharp as she talked. Dinner was over by this time, and as she finished with a laugh, she rose from her seat, and put her hand on Julian’s arm. His face was somewhat bored and dissatisfied, as though his mother’s effort for his entertainment entirely failed to compensate him for the merry house-parties of the last month. “I think I shall have to come and keep you company while you smoke your cigar,” she said lightly; adding, with an assumption of a sudden thought on the subject which was not wholly successful: “By-the-bye, the Garrick Club must be a most attractive spot if you stayed there from four o’clock till seven?” Julian took a quick step forward. The movement might have been due to his desire to open the door for her, or it might have been an expression of the irritation of which his face was full. “I didn’t get there at four,” he said. “I really don’t know what time it was, but it must have been nearly five. And I walked home; so I left somewhere about half-past six.” The irritation was in his voice as well as in his face; and his mother patted him gaily on the shoulder, with her most artificially self-deriding laugh. “He’s quite annoyed at being asked so many questions!” she exclaimed. “It’s a dreadful nuisance to have such a silly old mother, isn’t it? But you haven’t told me what Mr. Griffiths is like yet?” Julian had tried to laugh in answer to her first words; but the sound produced had been almost as greatly wanting in reality as had been the ease of his mother’s tone, and he answered now with undisguised impatience. “Like? Oh, he’s like--any other fellow, mother. Nothing particular, one way or the other.” He paused a moment, and then added hastily: “I was rather thinking of running down to the club this evening, dear, if you wouldn’t mind being alone. I want to hear whether Loring has come back. There’s just a chance he might be there, you know.” He had said that morning that there was no likelihood of Loring’s returning for another two or three days; but Mrs. Romayne forbore to remind him of that fact. Nor did she allude to the conviction which had turned her suddenly rather pale; namely, that his thoughts of going down to the club had arisen within the last few minutes. “Very well, dear,” she said, smiling up at him. “Go, by all means. Oh, no! I shall be quite happy with a book.” He did not look back at her as he left the room after another word or two, or the expression on her face might have arrested even his youthfully self-centred and preoccupied attention.