Colonel Disney was almost as inconsecutive and fragmentary in his conversation as his hostess, and did not imitate her smiling aspect. He was silent and moody, as he had been at the Glenaveril dinner, more than a year ago. That Silenus face bending towards his wife’s ear--that confidential air assumed in every look and tone--made him furious. He could scarcely sit through the dinner. He wounded Mrs. Baynham in her pride of heart as a housekeeper by hardly touching her choicest dishes. “Oh, come now, Colonel Disney,” she pleaded, “you must take one of my lobster cromskys. I don’t mind owning that I made them myself. It is an _entrée_ I learnt from the cook at my own home. My father was always particular about his table, and we had a professed cook. Please don’t refuse a cromsky.” Colonel Disney took the thing on his plate, and sat frowning at it, while a bustle at the door and a marked rise in the temperature indicated the entrance of the _pièce de resistance_, in the shape of a well-kept saddle of mutton. “Oh, but you had seen the _Vendetta_ before, hadn’t you?” asked the oily voice on the other side of the table. “You knew all about her. Really, now, Mrs. Disney, was that your first visit to Lostwithiel’s yacht?” Isola looked at the speaker as if he had struck her. Great God, how pale she was! Or was it the reflection of the apple-green shade upon the candle in front of her which gave her that ghastly look? “Yes,” she said. “I saw the yacht from the harbour years ago.” “But you were never on board her? How odd, now. I had a notion that you must have seen that pretty cabin, and all Lostwithiel’s finical arrangements. He was so proud of the _Vendetta_ when he was here. He was always asking my girls on board. You remember, Alicia, how Lord Lostwithiel used to ask you two girls to tea?” “Yes,” answered his daughter, in her hard voice. “He asked us often enough, but mother would not let us go.” “How very severe!” said Captain Hulbert, attracted by the sound of his brother’s name. “Why do you object to a tea-party on the _Vendetta_, Mrs. Crowther? Have you a prejudice against yachts? Do you think they are likely to go down in harbour, like the poor old _Royal George_?” “Oh no, I am not afraid of that. Only I liked Lord Lostwithiel to come to tea with us at Glenaveril; and I did not think it would be quite the thing for my girls to visit a bachelor’s yacht, even if I went with them. People at Trelasco are only too ready to make unpleasant remarks. They would have said we were running after Lord Lostwithiel.” “Oh, but it isn’t the single girls who run after the men nowadays,” said Mr. Crowther, with his Silenus grin; “it’s the young married women. They are the sirens.” Nobody took any notice of this remark; and the conversation which had become general for a minute or two resumed its duologue form.