“Sweet of you,” said she. “Now do go on. You were in the middle of telling me something quite thrilling. And please, Adele, let nobody wait for us. I see you are all at the end of lunch, and I haven’t begun, and gooseberries, as usual, have given me an enormous appetite. Yes, Mr. Merriall?” Adele looked in vain, when throughout the afternoon Marcia continued in possession of Lucia’s lover, for the smallest sign of resentment or uneasiness on her part. There was simply none; it was impossible to detect a thing that had no existence. Lucia seemed completely unconscious of any annexation, or indeed of Stephen’s existence. There she sat, just now with Tony and herself, talking of Marcia’s ball, and the last volume of risky memoirs, of which she had read a review in the Sunday paper, and Sophy’s black room and Alf: never had she been more equipped at all points, more prosperously central. Marcia, thought Adele, was being wonderfully worsted, if she imagined she could produce any sign of emotion on Lucia’s part. The lovers understood each other too well.... Or, she suddenly conjectured, had they quarrelled? It really looked rather like it. Though she and Tony were having a good Luciaphil meeting, she almost wanted Lucia to go away, in order to go into committee over this entrancing possibility. And how naturally she Tony’d him: she must have been practising on her maid. Somewhere in the house a telephone bell rang, and a footman came out on to the terrace. “Lucia, I know that’s for you,” said Adele. “Where-ever you are, somebody wants you on the telephone. If you were in the middle of the Sahara, a telephone would ring for you from the sands of the desert. Yes? Who is it for?” she said to the footman. “Mrs. Lucas, my lady,” he said. Lucia got up, quite delighted. “You’re always chaffing me, Adele,” she said. “What a nuisance the telephone is. One never gets a rest from it. But I won’t be a moment.” She tripped off. “Tony, there’s a great deal to talk about,” said Adele quickly. “Now what’s the situation between the lovers? Perfect understanding or a quarrel? And who has been ringing her up? What would you bet that it was----” “Alf,” said Tony. “I wonder. Tony, about the lovers. There’s something. I never saw such superb indifference. How I shall laugh at Marcia. She’s producing no effect at all. Lucia doesn’t take the slightest notice. I knew she would be great. Last night we had a wonderful talk in Marcia’s room, till Aggie was an ass. There she is again. Now we shall know.” Lucia came quickly along the terrace. “Adele dear,” she said. “Would it be dreadful of me if I left this afternoon? They’ve rung me up from Riseholme. Georgie rang me up. My Pepino is very far from well. Nothing really anxious, but he’s in bed and he’s alone. I think I had better go.” “Oh my dear,” said Adele, “of course you shall do precisely as you wish. I’m dreadfully sorry: so shall we all be if you go. But if you feel you would be easier in your mind----”