Pangs of self-reproach assailed Arthur as he sat on the lawn, smoking his pipe. Moreover he was not in such perfect good humour with Hilsey as he was wont to be. The miscarriage of his excursion rankled in his mind; the perfection of his harmony with Bernadette was a trifle impaired; there had been a touch of aloofness in her manner the last two days. Godfrey was too grumpy for words. Finally, to-day Oliver Wyse was coming. Was Hilsey really so fascinating that for its _beaux yeux_ a man must risk his interests, neglect his profession, and endanger, even by the difference of a hair, a dramatic success which was to outvie the triumph of _Help Me Out Quickly_? Yet he was annoyed at having to put this question to himself, at having to ask himself how he stood towards Hilsey and how Hilsey stood to him. And, down in his heart, he knew that it would be very difficult to go if Bernadette really wanted him to stay--and a very distressful departure for him if it appeared that she did not! Judith came out of the house, crossed the lawn, and sat down in a chair opposite him. They had met earlier in the day, and greeting did not seem necessary to Arthur's preoccupied mind. He was smoking rather hard, and still frowning over his problem. Judith, on the other hand, seemed to be engaged with some secret source of amusement, although amusement of a rather sardonic order. Her mouth was twisted in a satirical smile--not at Arthur's expense, but at the expense of some person or persons unknown. Arthur did not notice her expression, but presently he announced to her the outcome of his thoughts. "I think I shall have to go back to town to-morrow for a bit; some business has turned up." Her eyes met his quickly and, somehow, rather suspiciously. "Oh, don't you run away too!" she said. "Run away too! What do you mean? Who's running away? What are you grinning at, Judith?" The word, though not complimentary, really described the character of her smile. "Godfrey's gone to bed." "Gone to bed? Why, he was at breakfast!" "I know. But he says he got up feeling seedy, and now he feels worse. So he's gone to bed." Arthur looked hard at her, and gradually smiled himself. "What's the matter with him?" "He says he's got a bad liver attack. But I--I think he's left out the first letter." "Left out----? Oh, no, you don't mean----?" He burst out laughing. "Well, I'm jiggered!" "Oliveritis--that's my diagnosis. He does go to bed sometimes, you know, when--well, when the world gets too hard for him, poor Godfrey!" "Oh, I never heard of such a thing! It can't be that! Does he hate him as much as that?" "He doesn't like him." "Do you think that's why he's been so grumpy lately?" "I suppose he'd say that was the liver attack coming on, but--well, I've told you!" "But to go to bed!" Arthur chuckled again. "Well, I am jiggered!" "You may be jiggered as much as you like--but must you go to London?"