'It's always the husband's great friend, unfortunately,' sighed Eglantine. 'Oh, my dear' (with the usual cheap, ready-made knowingness of the cynic), 'I've seen so much of that. Now I'm going to help you. I'm determined to leave you two dear, charming people without a cloud, when I go.' 'You're not thinking of going?' 'Not yet ... no. Not while you let me stay here, dear. I've friends in London, and in the country, but I haven't looked them up, or written to them, or done anything since I've been here. I've been too happy. I couldn't be bothered. I am so interested in you! Another thing--may I say?--for I feel as if I'd known you for years. You think your husband doesn't know it. You are wrong.' 'Am I really?' 'Quite. Last night a certain look when he spoke of the Mitchells showed me that Bruce is terribly jealous. He doesn't show it, but he is.' 'But--Mrs Mitchell?' suggested Edith. 'She's one of our best friends--a dear thing. By the way, we're asking them to dine with us on Tuesday.' 'I'm delighted to hear it. I shall understand everything then. Isn't it curious--without even seeing them--that I know all about it? I think I've a touch of second sight.' 'But, Eglantine, aren't you going a little far? Hadn't you better wait until you've seen them, at least. You've no idea how well the Mitchells get on.' 'I've no doubt of it,' she replied, 'and, of course, I don't know that he--Mr Mitchell, I mean--even realises what you are to him. But _I_ do!' Edith was really impressed at the dash with which Madame Frabelle so broadly handled this vague theme. 'Wait till you do see them,' she said, rather mischievously, declining to deny her friend's suggestion altogether. 'Odd I should have guessed it, isn't it?' Madame Frabelle was evidently pleased. 'You'll admit this, Edith, from what your husband says I gather you see each other continually, don't you?' 'Very often.' 'Bruce and he are together at the Foreign Office. Bruce thinks much of him, and admires him. With it all I notice now and then a tinge of bitterness in the way he speaks. He was describing their fancy-dress ball to me the other day, and really his description of Mr Mitchell's costume would have been almost spiteful in any other man.' 'Well, but Mr Mitchell is over sixty. And he was got up as a black poodle.' 'Yes; quite so. But he's a fine-looking man, isn't he? And very pleasant and hospitable?' 'Oh yes, of course.' 'On your birthday last week that magnificent basket of flowers came from Mr Mitchell,' stated Eglantine. 'Certainly; from the Mitchells rather. But, really, that's nothing. I think you'll be a little disappointed if you think he's at all of the romantic type.'