“What a most astonishing thing!” she cried, after kissing Isola, and holding out both her plump, white hands to the colonel. “Have you dear, good people dropped from the clouds? I thought you were nearly three hundred miles away when the man came to say you were waiting to see me. It is a miracle we are dining at home to-night. We are so seldom at home. Of course you will stay and dine with us. Come up to my room and take off your hat, Isa. No, you needn’t worry about dress,” anticipating Disney’s refusal; “we are quite alone. I am going to dine in my tea-gown, and Daniel is only just home from the city.” “You are very kind; no, my dear Mrs. Hazelrigg, we won’t dine with you to-night,” answered Disney. “We have only just come up to town. We drove across the park to see you before going to our hotel. Our portmanteaux are waiting at the door. We are in town for so short a time that I wanted to see you at once--particularly as I have--a rather foolish question to ask you.” His voice grew husky, though he tried his uttermost to maintain a lightness of tone. “Ask away,” said Gwendolen, straightening herself in her glistening grey gown, a splendid example of modern elegance in dress and demeanour, and altogether a more brilliant and imposing beauty than the pale, fragile figure sitting in a drooping attitude beside the fireless hearth. “Ask away,” repeated Gwendolen, gaily, glancing at her sister’s mournful face as she spoke. “If I can answer you I will--but please to consider that I have a wretched memory.” “You are not likely to forget the fact I want to ascertain. My wife and I have had an argument about dates--we are at variance about the date of her last visit to you--while I was away--and I should like to settle our little dispute, though it did not go so far as a wager. When was she with you? On what date did she leave you?” All hesitation and huskiness were gone from manner and voice. He stood like a pillar, with his face turned towards his sister-in-law, his eyes resolute and inquiring. “Oh, don’t ask me about dates,” cried Gwendolen, “I never know dates. I buy Letts in every form, year after year--but I never can keep up my diary. Nothing but a self-acting diary would be of any use to me. It was in December she came to me--and in December she left--after a short visit. Come, Isa. You must remember the dates of your arrival and departure, better than I. You don’t live in the London whirl. You don’t have your brains addled by hearing about Buenos Ayres, Reading and Philadelphias, Berthas, Brighton A’s, and things.” Martin Disney looked at her searchingly. Her manner was perfectly easy and natural, of a childlike transparency. Her large, bright, blue eyes looked at him--fearless and candid as the eyes of a child. “You ought to remember that it was on the last day of the year I left this house,” said Isola, in her low, depressed voice, as of one weary unto death. “You said enough about it at the time.”