Leicester Wargrave shook his head. "Suppose we had been out," he said; "suppose it had been in somebody else's house. What a nuisance it would have been--making everybody talk! I shall have to speak to Marian seriously----" "You don't suppose she fainted to annoy you?" said Charles. "Oh, you never can tell what a woman will do," said the husband. "If I could only remember what we were talking of when she went off in that ridiculous way----" "We were talking of nothing of the least importance, Leicester." "Ah, you don't know. A wife's a great comfort in some circumstances, I don't deny, and Marian's a good wife; still, there's nobody can make a man look so ridiculous--when she chooses." "Poor Marian! It must have been very unpleasant for herself: she couldn't have done it on purpose, you know." "You can never tell," said the aggrieved master of the house. He looked so rueful and so annoyed that the young man burst into a laugh. He was aware that his cousin was prone to blame some one for every accident that occurred, but it seemed a new way of dealing with a fainting-fit. After a minute of silence, during which Leicester Wargrave kept walking up and down the room in an impatient way, Charles repeated his previous question. "I say, old fellow, who was the angelic being in white?" "Eh?" said the other again, with half attention; then he added angrily, "Don't be such a fool--the angelic being was simply Mademoiselle." "Mademoiselle! the governess? That's nonsense, Leicester." "What is nonsense? I hope I know as much as that: and there is no doubt about it. She was in a nightgown, or something; that woman Jervis, who is good for nothing, fetched her, I suppose. I'll tell Marian to send that useless fool away. She's no good." "Mademoiselle," said Charlie, "the governess? I thought she was a dowdy, elderly person--but this one was a beautiful girl. Are you sure you are not making a mistake?" "Girl!" said Mr Leicester Wargrave; "she's nearer forty than thirty. She's not a bad-looking woman--there's a good deal in her: I've often said as much to Marian. But Marian says she's very French--though that's what we have her for, I suppose." "I don't mind what country she is of. She's----" But here Charles Wargrave seemed to check himself, and said no more. "You--don't mind? No, I don't suppose so. Between ourselves, I don't see what you've got to do with it," said Leicester, with a laugh. Charles, who had been sitting with his hands in his pockets, thrust deeply down, and his head bent as if in deep consideration, here roused himself a little, and gave his head a shake as if to chase some cobwebs away. "No," he said, after a moment's pause, "I don't suppose I have got anything to do with it--as you say."