"We thought," I said, "we thought that perhaps you would be able to explain better than we could how----" "Why, what have you been talking about, then?" she asked. "We haven't been talking," I replied, looking at the little brass pilgrim on the door. "We've been listening." And then we went in to lunch. CHAPTER IX WE AWAIT DEVELOPMENTS If it were necessary to epitomize our attitude towards Mr. Carville during that lunch, it might perhaps be discovered in the word "doubt." Without accusing him of intentional deception, he had certainly led us to believe that he would explain to us the many points of interest which his previous history had raised. We had felt quite sure that in the course of the morning we should learn of his meeting with his wife and the reasons which led them to make their home in the United States. We expected to have the mystery of the prodigal brother co-ordinated with the painter-cousin's story. We--but of what avail was it to grumble? He had set out to tell his tale in his own way and it was only right that we should permit him to do so. In one thing I agreed with Bill and differed from Mac--the question of "Gladys." "So her name's 'Gladys'?" said he, when he had brought Miss Fraenkel's knowledge up to date. "Oh, no!" exclaimed Bill. "Oh, no!" "He said so," persisted her husband. "No," I said, "so far he has not mentioned Mrs. Carville." He came round to our view in the end, when I reminded him of the _scaldino_. Personally, the idea was incredible. When I thought of Mrs. Carville bending over the brazier, of her dark, noble face with its large tragic eyes, and then of the smart convent-bred miss who was called Gladys--absurd! Miss Fraenkel remained faithful to her mission throughout the meal, and enlisted our sympathy by recounting the struggles of Mrs. Wederslen to capture the league for her own social purposes. It was an old story, this of the ambition of Mrs. Wederslen. Mrs. Wederslen seemed to think that in a community of artists the art-critic's wife is queen. Mrs. Williams had rebelled against this, and there was tension between them. Mrs. Wederslen had even made the insane experiment of trying to patronize Bill. There had been a meeting, a few words on each side, and the rest was silence. Without any definite verbal information on the point, Mac and I knew that Bill's tongue would be stilled in death ere she would speak charitably of Mrs. Wederslen. And here were Miss Fraenkel's piquant features aglow with a flush of indignation and her hazel eyes aflame with ladylike resentment, because that imperious woman was endeavouring to assert her sovereignty over the league. In the great problems thus raised it seemed likely that the smaller matter of Mrs. Carville's allegiance might be swamped. I endeavoured to bring this discussion into alignment with my own imaginings, a common human weakness. "But perhaps she's like me, hasn't got a vote," said Bill.