"Yes, sir!" Peter spoke eagerly, and was evidently about to say much, when he suddenly shut his wide mouth and said no more than the two words. Hench settled his coat and his tie, pondering over the situation. The sight of the boy, who was connected with Bottles, revived his anxiety, and he feared lest the lad should write to London and say where he was. In that case Madame Alpenny might find him out, and then there would be trouble. But then Simon, if he did write, would do so to his brother, and Bottles was entirely to be trusted. Still, Hench would have liked to give this page a hint, yet could not do so, as it would be undignified. Peter noted his lingering and hesitation. "Simon wants to see you, sir. It's all right." "What's all right?" asked Hench sharply. The page wriggled uneasily. "Simon will tell you, sir. I don't know nothing, I don't, Mr. Hench." Owain felt uneasy at the implied mystery, but judged it wise to affect careless confidence. "Simon can come and see me when he likes," he said, and entered the drawing-room, considerably annoyed by the encounter. CHAPTER XI MACBETH'S BANQUET The house of Mrs. Perage was quaint and old-fashioned, being so delightfully reminiscent of gracious antiquity that Hench was charmed with his surroundings. As a very modern young man, who had wandered largely in new lands where civilization was still raw, he was pleasantly impressed by the panelled room with the low ceiling. The furniture was Chippendale and Sheraton of the powder and puff epoch, while carpet and curtains were mellowed by age into restful colours, comfortable to the eye. An odour of dried rose leaves scented the air, mingling with the more living perfume of countless blossoms. Mrs. Perage had the happy taste to be extremely fond of flowers, it would seem, for the room was filled with colour and fragrance, even to the fireplace, which bloomed like a garden with white buds and green leaves. Even though the curtains were not yet drawn, and the luminous summer twilight stole in through the wide windows, the many lamps were lighted. And the radiance of these, diffused through rose-tinted shades, bathed the whole room in the delicate hues of dawn. This was a haven of rest, a bower of joy, a paradise of delight, and Hench drew a long breath of sheer pleasure on its threshold. "What a charming room," he said, advancing to greet his hostess. "Charming!" "Blunderer!" retorted that lady in her contralto voice, which boomed like the buzz of a bee in a fox glove bell. "You should say, what charming ladies." "You would think me too bold if I put my thoughts into words." "Very cleverly turned, young man. But women never think men are too bold when they pay compliments."