She made no answer beyond shrugging her fine shoulders and leaning back in her chair as she glanced across at her husband. A moment's silence fell on the table. It seemed that they recognised a difference between troubles and grievances which could be discussed with more or less good-nature, or quarrelled over with more or less acerbity, and those which were in another category. The moment the Courtlands were in question, a constraint arose. Tom Courtland himself broke the silence, but it was to talk about an important cricket-match. Lady Harriet smiled at him composedly, unconscious of the earnest study of Sibylla's eyes, which were fixed on her and were asking (as Mrs. Raymore would have said) many questions. When the ladies had gone, Fanshaw buttonholed Raymore and exhibited to him his financial position and its exigencies with ruthless elaboration and with a persistently implied accusation of Christine's extravagance. Selford victimised young Blake with the story of a picture which he had just picked up; he declared it was by a famous Dutch master, and watched for the effect on Blake, who showed none, never having heard of the Dutch master. Tom Courtland edged up to Grantley's side; they had not met since Grantley's wedding. "Well, you look very blooming and happy, and all that," he said. "First-rate, old boy. How are you?" Tom lowered his voice and spoke with a cautious air. "I've done it, Grantley--what I wrote to you. By God, I couldn't stand it any longer! I'd sooner take any risk. Oh, I shall be very careful! I shan't give myself away. But I had to do it." Grantley gave a shrug. "Oh, well, I'm sorry," he said. "That sort of thing may turn out so awkward." "It'd have to be infernally awkward to be worse than what I've gone through. At any rate I get away from it sometimes now, and--and enjoy myself." "Find getting away easy?" "No; but as we must have shindies, we may as well have them about that. I told Harriet she made the house intolerable, so I should spend my evenings at my clubs." "Oh! And--and who is she?" He looked round warily before he whispered: "Flora Bolton." Grantley raised his brows and said one word: "Expensive!" Tom nodded with a mixture of ruefulness and pride. "If you're going to the devil, you may as well go quickly and pleasantly," he said, drumming his fingers on the cloth. "By heaven, if I'd thought of this when I married! I meant to go straight--you know I did?" Grantley nodded. "I broke off all that sort of thing. I could have gone straight. She's driven me to it--by Jove, she has." "Take care, old chap. They'll notice you." "I don't care if---- Oh, all right, and thanks, Grantley. I don't want to make an exhibition of myself. And I've told nobody but you, of course."