"It is always a pleasure to see you, _gnädige Frau_," Seleneck answered warmly. "You know that your welcome is always waiting you. And that reminds me—we are giving a little dinner next week—quite _entre nous_, you know—and of course it would not be complete without you and Wolff. And your brother"—he turned to Miles with a bow, which was answered by a blank stare—"I hope will do us the honour." He had spoken with unusual kindness, because he felt that his thoughts at least had not been altogether hospitable, and he had every desire to atone to Nora as far as lay in his power. A cough from Frau von Seleneck warned him that he had instead been guilty of a mysterious _faux pas_. Nora’s colour had deepened, and she was playing restlessly with her gloves. "It’s very good of you," she stammered. "Frau von Seleneck has also asked me—it was very kind. Of course I shall tell Wolff, and we will let you know." The puzzled officer saw a scornful, angry smile pass over his wife’s face; and feeling that he was altogether out of his depths, he kissed the extended hand and prepared to show his guests to the door of the flat. At the general preparations for departure Miles Ingestre awoke from his dreary contemplation of the imitation Turkish carpet and, extricating one hand from his pocket, proffered it all round with signs of sincere relief. Frau von Seleneck bowed and ignored the offer, and her farewell with Nora was marked with a not less striking, if more inexplicable, rigidity. Five minutes later, when her husband returned from his host’s duties, he found her in floods of angry tears. "_Mein liebes Kind!_" he exclaimed in despair. "Whatever is the matter? Has anything serious happened?" "I have been insulted in my own house!" the little woman retorted, dabbing her eyes fiercely with a minute pocket-handkerchief. "I should hope that was serious enough!" "Insulted! By whom?" "By that—that English creature!" "Do you mean Frau von Arnim? But, _Menkenkind_!—she is your best friend!" "She is nothing of the kind. She is a conceited, pretentious, arrogant—oh! I don’t know what, but I know I hate her with all my heart. And as for that brother——" With a determined effort she swallowed down a torrent of adjectives and sobbed huskily instead. Seleneck seated himself on the arm of her chair and patted her on the shoulder. "Perhaps one day you’ll tell me all about it," he suggested, and waited patiently for results. After a moment, the desire to tell her story overcame the desire to have a good cry, and Frau von Seleneck, leaning her head against her husband and squeezing his hand violently at moments of more than usual indignation, related the incidents which had led up to this climax. It appeared, in the first place, that Nora had arrived at an entirely inopportune moment.