How very much Challis would have preferred it if his wife had said, "I won't kiss you if you swear," and had then done it _quandmême_! His mind--a fictionmonger's--reconstructed his reception with things more palatable for Marianne to say, this one among them. Another thing he would have liked, quite inexplicably, was, "Well!--how's the fascinating Judith?" Possibly this was because he would have welcomed help from without to convince him he was indifferent about the young woman. The answer he imagined for himself, which would have been pleasant for him to give, was, "She's coming to see you next week, Polly Anne. So get your best bib and tucker ready!" But there had been none of this, nor the laughter--purely imaginary--that he garnished it with. Only the flatness as recorded. "Perhaps it was all that confounded cabman," said Challis to himself and a bath-towel like a _toga_, after a very respectable warm bath--not equal to that at Royd, though--and a cold douche. He had to hurry up to keep his word at half-past eight. But he kept it. "Well!" said he, as he joined his wife in the drawing-room, where she was awaiting the announcement of dinner, Challis conceived. "Well what?" She touched the nearest bell-handle. "They'll know it's for dinner," she said, and the remark seemed relative. "Why well?" "Well everything! Tell me all about the kids, about who's called, about where you've been, about everything. Come, Polly Anne, I think you might unbutton a little and be jolly when a chap's been away three weeks. How are John and Charlotte Eldridge?" "Yes!--I think you might have asked about them. John has been at death's door. There's dinner!..." Challis made a sympathetic noise about Mr. Eldridge, but postponed inquiry. Nothing made it easy until he found himself a lonely soup-consumer; because, you see, Marianne wasn't hungry. "What has it been?" Too concise, perhaps. But really death's door, with John on the step, had been the last thing mentioned. "What has what been?" "What you told me. What's been the matter with John?" "Peritonitis. But he's going on well now. Dr. Kitt says he'll have to live very carefully for some time.... I know what you mean, but it's very unfeeling to laugh. Besides, I don't believe he eats more than other people." Challis felt indefensible. Just fancy!--there he was, eating gravy soup all by himself! "I wasn't laughing, old girl," said he. "Poor Jack Eldridge! Peritonitis is no joke. I'll go round to-morrow." "It won't be any use. He won't be able to see you. Yes--you can take the soup, Harmood. Mr. Challis isn't going to have any more...."