Her hostess was silent, but the Major, always garrulous, broke in with one of his pet grievances which lasted till the end of the meal, and ended by proving anew, through many ramifications, that the country was going to the dogs. In the drawing-room, when coffee was served after dinner, and her host had gone to the smoking-room, circumstances for Mrs. Carfax were more propitious. Madame Didier took out her embroidery, and Mrs. Lovell lay back in an easy-chair, and warmed her feet at the fire. “Helen has been telling me a good deal about this Mrs. Dakin,” she began. Her tone suggested that further confidences might be expected from Mrs. Dakin’s friend, and Mrs. Carfax sat upright in her chair, and leant forward a little. “Oh, but if Mrs. Carfax is a friend----” objected Madame Didier. “Well, dear, so are you,” put in Mrs. Lovell, who, as Mrs. Carfax suddenly decided, was really quite stupid. Madame Didier’s offended expression might portend anything--even silence. Innocent of psychology, Mrs. Carfax could not be expected to know that on this score, at least, she need have no apprehension. “Of course I am Madge’s friend,” said Madame Didier, stitching very fast, “and that’s why I am so distressed at her foolish behaviour.” “What has she----?” Mrs. Carfax paused. It was perhaps safer not to interrupt. “Oh only that she rather annoyed me by flirting outrageously with a man who sometimes comes to our house. A man I don’t like. But he’s a friend of Louis’s, and so I have to put up with him. A Monsieur Fontenelle.” “Why, I met him last spring, at a dinner-party!” interrupted Mrs. Carfax in surprise. “So I heard.” The brief words were enigmatic in tone, and Mrs. Carfax gave an uncomprehending gasp. “He’s a celebrated man, as of course you know. He was made President of the International Art Congress this summer, here in London. And he’s naturally a splendid painter. But he’s not a nice man. Few Frenchmen are.” Madame Didier shut her thin lips, and bent over her embroidery. “You mean----?” began Mrs. Carfax timidly. “If he were an Englishman, he would have a very bad reputation. But in Paris--well!” Madame Didier shrugged her shoulders. “There’s no such thing as morality. I need not tell you that _I_ have never grown accustomed to it. I still keep my English ideas as to right and wrong.” “I’m thankful you do, dear Helen,” murmured her aunt. “I warned Madge,” pursued her friend. “I told her all I had heard about him. Louis was angry with me, but I thought it my duty.” “But she hasn’t----? I mean there isn’t any danger of--of a divorce, or anything of that kind?” Mrs. Carfax involuntarily lowered her voice to a horrified whisper.