'So you young people have discovered one another,' he remarked. 'The gong at last!' he added, with a little burst of enthusiasm. 'Lavendale, as it is your first evening, will you take Lydia in? Miss de Freyne, I am going to give myself the happiness to-night.' He held out his arm and led Suzanne away. Lavendale loitered behind with his cousin. 'Lydia,' he whispered, as they passed into the great dining-room, 'how long has Miss de Freyne been here?' 'In this house since the day before yesterday,' she answered. 'She was staying before at the Hookam Arms, down in the village.' 'Say, is there anything wrong about this place?' he asked. 'I don't know what it is, but I feel as though I'd come into some sort of a theatrical performance. I suppose you are all alive, aren't you? That really is Barracombe, the traveller, and old Steinletter?' His tone had been one of half banter, but her reply made him suddenly serious. 'I don't know, Ambrose,' she confessed nervously. 'Sometimes I feel like that myself. Don't talk too loudly.' Lavendale became a watcher through the progress of the wonderfully served meal. The servants, in a way, were all of the usual type, obviously well-trained and attentive. The dining-room at Hookam had been built out by a favourite of one of the Georges almost in the form of a pagoda, and under the high, domed roof, listening to the somewhat stereotyped conversation of those strangely-assorted guests, Lavendale became slowly conscious of a new sensation, the sensation of restriction. It was hard to believe that outside lay the park; that in the morning he would be wandering about, free to come and go as he pleased; that in the garage was his own car, and a couple of miles away across the park, the road to London. He tried to talk lightly to Lydia of their relatives and friends in America, but he found her distraite and depressed. Dinner was no sooner over, however, than he made a bold attempt to dissipate some of his presentiments. 'Can I use the telephone, Silburn?' he asked. 'With pleasure, my dear boy,' was the unhesitating reply. 'You'll find an instrument this way.' They were all crossing the hall. The men and the women were to smoke and take their coffee together. Silburn led his young guest into a small waiting-room, comfortably furnished. On a table in the middle of the apartment was a telephone instrument and a book of subscribers. Lavendale took up the receiver. 'Can you get through to London?' he asked. 'Sorry, sir, the line is engaged,' the operator regretted. 'Will it be free presently?' 'I'll ring up as soon as we can get through. What number?' Lavendale gave the number of his own rooms and rejoined the little group in the hall. He found Barracombe on one side of Suzanne and his host on the other, but he drew a chair as near to her as he could. 'Get through all right?' Silburn inquired. 'I didn't get through anywhere,' Lavendale replied. 'The line was engaged.'