Mrs. Wyndham looked inquiringly at John for a moment, and the quick smile of ready comprehension played on her sensitive mouth. "Are you really quite sure you have not offended her?" she asked. "Quite sure," John answered, in a tone of conviction. "Besides, I never offend any one, certainly not ladies. I never did such a thing in my whole life." "Not singly," said Mrs. Wyndham, laughing. "You offend people in large numbers when you do it at all, especially newspaper people. Sam read that ridiculous article in the paper to me last night." "Which paper?" asked John, smiling. "They have most of them been at me this week." "_The_ paper," answered Mrs. Sam, "the _horrid_ paper. You do not suppose I would mention such a publication in my house?" "Oh, my old enemy," laughed John. "I do not mind that in the least. One might almost think those articles were written by Miss Thorn." "Perhaps they are," answered Mrs. Wyndham. "Really," she added, glancing at Josephine, whom Pocock Vancouver had just detached from her group of girls, "really you may not be so very, very far wrong." John's glance followed the direction of her eyes, and he saw Vancouver. He looked steadily at the man's delicate pale features and intellectual head, and at the end of half a minute he and Mrs. Wyndham looked at each other again. She probably regretted the hint she had carelessly dropped, but she met Harrington's gaze frankly. "I did not mean to say it," she said, for John looked so grave that she was frightened. "It was only a guess." "But have you any reason to think it might be the truth?" asked John. "None whatever--really none, except that he differs so much from you in every way, politically speaking." She knew very well that Vancouver hated John, and she had often thought it possible that the offensive articles in question came from the pen of the former. There was a tone of superior wit and a ring of truer English in them than are generally met with in the average office work of a daily newspaper. "I do not believe Vancouver writes them," said John, slowly. "He is not exactly a friend, but he is not an enemy either." Mrs. Wyndham, who knew better than that, held her peace. She was not a mischief-maker, and moreover she liked both the men too well to wish a quarrel between them. She busied herself at the tea-table for a moment, and John stood near her, watching the moving crowd. Now and then his eyes rested on Josephine Thorn's graceful figure, and he noticed how her expressive features lighted up in the conversation. John could hear something of their conversation, which was somewhat noisy. They were talking in that strain of objectless question and answer which may be stupid to idiocy or clever to the verge of wit, according to the talkers. Joe called it "chaff." "I have learned America," said Joe. "Indeed!" said Vancouver. "You have not been long about it; but then, you will say there is not much to learn."