When seven o’clock came and the _table-d’hôte_, Daphne was shut up in her own room with a bad headache; Mr. Goring was missing; and there were only Aunt Rhoda, Madoline, and Edgar to take their accustomed places near one end of the long table. A little pencilled note from Daphne had been brought to Madoline by one of the chambermaids, just before dinner: ‘I have been for a long, long walk, and the heat has given me a dreadful headache. Please excuse my coming to dinner. I will have some tea in my room.’ ‘That foolish girl has been walking too far for her strength, no doubt,’ said Mrs. Ferrers. ‘She is always in extremes. But what has become of Mr. Goring? Has he been overwalking himself too?’ ‘I think not,’ answered Lina, smiling; ‘we were dawdling about together near the hotel till four o’clock, and I don’t suppose he would start for a long ramble after that.’ ‘Then why is he not at dinner?’ This question was unanswerable. They could only speculate vaguely about the absent one. Nobody had seen him after he parted from Madoline at the garden gate. Perhaps he had walked to Vevey, perhaps to Montreux, miscalculating the distance, and the time it would take him to go and return. There was an uncomfortable feeling all through the slow protracted dinner, Madoline’s eyes wandering to the door every now and then, expecting to see Gerald enter; Edgar out of spirits because Daphne was absent; Mrs. Ferrers overcome by the heat, and beginning to perceive that Swiss scenery was a delight of which one might become weary. ‘I am so vexed with myself for falling asleep and letting Daphne roam about alone,’ said Edgar, staring absently at a savoury mess of veal and vegetable to which he had mechanically helped himself. ‘I don’t see why you should blame yourself for Daphne’s want of common sense,’ answered Aunt Rhoda somewhat snappishly. ‘It was an afternoon that would have sent anybody to sleep. Even I, who am generally so wakeful, closed my eyes for a few minutes over my book.’ If Mrs. Ferrers had confessed that she had been snoring vigorously for an hour and a half, she would have been nearer the truth. Dinner came to its formal close in the shape of an unripe dessert, and there was still no sign of Gerald. Edgar went up to the corridor and knocked at Daphne’s door to inquire if her head were better. She answered from within in a weary voice: ‘Thanks; no! It is aching awfully. Please don’t trouble yourself about me. Go for a nice walk with Lina.’ ‘Don’t you think if you were to come out and sit in the garden the cool evening air would do you good?’ ‘I couldn’t lift my head from the pillow.’ ‘Then you will not be well enough to go back to Montreux to-morrow morning? We had better put off the journey.’ ‘On no account. I shall be quite well to-morrow. It is only a headache. Please go away and enjoy your evening.’ ‘As if I could enjoy life without you. Good-night, darling. God bless you!’