And this was one of the curious characteristics of Madame Frabelle. Nobody made so many gaffes, yet no-one got out of them so well. To use the lawyer's phrase, she used so many words that she managed to engulf her own and her interlocutor's ideas. No-one, perhaps, had ever talked so much nonsense seriously as she did that day, but the Rev. Byrne Fraser said she was a remarkable woman, who had read and thought deeply. Also he was enchanted with her interest in him, as everybody always was. Edith thought she had heard Mr Mitchell saying something to the others that interested her. She managed to get near him when the gentlemen joined them in the studio, as they called the large room where there was a stage, a piano, a parquet floor, and every possible arrangement for amusement. Madame Frabelle moved quickly away, supposing that Edith wished to speak to him for his sake, whereas really it was in order to have repeated something she thought she had heard at lunch. 'Did I hear you saying anything about your old friend, Aylmer Ross?' she asked. 'Yes, indeed. Haven't you heard? The poor fellow has been wounded. He was taken into hospital at once, fortunately, and he's getting better, and is going to be brought home almost immediately, to the same old house in Jermyn Street. I think his son is to meet him at the station today. We must all go and see him. Capital chap, Aylmer. I always liked him. He's travelled so much that--even before the war--I hadn't seen him for three years.' 'Was the wound serious?' asked Edith, who had turned pale. 'They were anxious at first. Now he's out of danger. But, poor chap, I'm afraid he won't be able to move for a good while. His leg is broken. I hear he's got to be kept lying down two or three months.' 'Qu'est ce qu'il y a, Edith?' asked Landi, who joined her. 'I've just heard some bad news,' she said, 'but don't speak about it.' She told him. 'Bien. Du calme, mon enfant; du calme!' 'But, I'm anxious, Landi.' 'Ca se voit!' 'Do you think--' 'Ce ne sera rien. It's the best thing that could happen to him. He'll be all right.... I suppose you want to see him, Edith?' 'He may not wish to see me,' said Edith. 'Oh yes, he will. You were the first person he thought of,' answered Landi. 'Why, my dear, you forget you treated him badly!' 'Then, if he'd treated _me_ badly he wouldn't care to see me again, you mean?' 'C'est probable,' said Landi, selecting with care a very large cigar from a box that was being handed round. 'Now, be quite tranquil. I shall go and see him directly I leave here, and I'll let you hear every detail. Will that do?' 'Thanks, dear Landi!... But even if he wishes to see me, ought I to go?' 'That I don't know. But you will.' He lighted the long cigar. CHAPTER IX Next morning Edith, who always came down to breakfast, though somewhat late, found on her plate a letter from Lady Conroy, that most vague and forgetful of all charming Irishwomen. It said: 'My DEAR MRS OTTLEY,