“I'm afraid--” Peter would begin. “Peter's too engaged to take you, Clare dear.” “I dare say Jerry will come--” this from Clare. “Ah! yes, Mr. Cardillac is always ready to take any trouble, Peter.” “If you'd let me know earlier, Clare, that you wanted me.” Mrs. Rossiter. “Oh! don't put yourself out, Peter. It would never do to break an engagement. Only it seems such a long time since you and Clare--” Peter. “We'll go to-morrow afternoon, Clare.” Clare. “You're so gloomy when you do come, Peter. It's like going out with a ghost.” Mrs. Rossiter. “Ah! Peter has his work, dear--so much hangs on the next book, doesn't it, Peter? Naturally the last one didn't quite--” Peter. “Look here, Clare, I'll chuck this engagement.” Clare. “No, thank you, Peter--Jerry and I will be all right. You can join us if you like--” The fact was that Peter wasn't tactful. He showed Mrs. Rossiter much too plainly that he disliked her intensely. He had no idea that he showed it her. He thought, indeed, that he was very skilful in his disguise of his feelings but Mrs. Rossiter knew and soon Clare knew also. Peter had no conception of subtlety in the matter. It was clear to him that he had once been devoted to Clare and she to him, it was clear also that that relationship had recently been dimmed. Now that Stephen was gone that early intimacy must be restored and the fact that he was willing on his side to do anything to bring it back seemed to him reason enough for its restoration. That the whole matter was composed of the most delicate and intricate threads never occurred to him for an instant. Clare had loved him once. Clare would love him again--and the sooner it happened the better for him. Meanwhile Mrs. Rossiter being enemy rather than ally there remained Cards. But Cards was strange. Peter could never claim to have been intimate with him--their relationship had been founded on an inequality, on a recognition from Peter of Cards' superiority. Cards had always laughed at Peter, always patronised him. But now, although Cards had been in the place so much of late, the distance seemed farther than ever before. Cards was as kind as he could be--always in good spirits, always ready to do anything, but Peter noticed that it was only when Clare was present that Cards changed from jest to earnest. “He thinks Clare worth talking to seriously.... I suppose it's because he was at Dawson's ... but after all I'm not an imbecile.” This attitude of Cards was in fact as vague and nebulous as all the other things that seemed now to stand between Peter and Clare. Peter tried to talk to Cards--he was always prevented--held off with a laughing hand. “What's the matter with me?” thought Peter. “What have I done? It's like being out in a fog.” At last one evening, after dinner, when Clare and Mrs. Rossiter had gone upstairs he demanded an answer. “Look here, Cards, what have I done? You profess to be a friend of mine. Tell me what crime I've committed?”