“I’m so glad,” said Mrs. Lester, smiling, “that Tony Gale has taken so strong a liking to your husband. It’s so good for a boy of that age to have some one older. . . . He’s a charming boy, of course, but they always need some one at that age just to prevent them from doing anything foolish.” _This_ was fishing, Mrs. Maradick at once felt. She couldn’t see exactly what Mrs. Lester wanted, but she _did_ want something, and she wasn’t going to get it. She had a sudden desire to prove to Mrs. Lester that she was a great deal more to her husband than appeared on the surface. A great deal more, of course, than any of the others were. For the first time in their married life she spoke of him with enthusiasm. “Ah! James,” she said, “is splendid with young men. Only I could really tell the world what he has been to some of them. They take to him like anything. There’s something so strong and manly about him—and yet he’s sympathetic. Oh! I could tell you——” She nodded her head sagaciously. “Yes,” said Mrs. Lester; “I can’t tell you how I admire him, how we all do, in fact. He must be very popular in Epsom.” “Well, as a matter of fact he rather keeps himself to himself there. They all like him enormously, of course; but he doesn’t want anything really except just the family—myself and the girls, you know. He’s a very domestic man, he always has been.” “Yes, one can see that,” said Mrs. Lester, smiling. “It’s delightful when one sees that nowadays. It so seldom happens, I am afraid. You must be very proud of him.” “I am,” said Mrs. Maradick. The impulse to lean over and take Mrs. Lester’s head and slowly bend it back until the bones cracked was almost too strong to be resisted. Mrs. Maradick pricked her finger and stopped the blood with her handkerchief. Both ladies were silent. The last rays of the sun as it left the corner of the lawn fell in a golden shower upon the sweet-peas. Mrs. Lawrence could be heard counting her stitches. Meanwhile Mrs. Lester’s smile had had its effect upon Maradick. He had waited, tortured, for the smile to come, but now it was all right. They were still friends. He could not see it any farther than that. After all, why should he trouble to look at it any more deeply? They were friends. He would be able to talk to her again; he would see her smile again. If she did not want him to behave like that, if she did not want him to hold her hand, he was ready to obey in anything. But they were still friends. She was not angry with him. His depression took wings and fled. He put his arm on Tony’s shoulder as they went down the stairs. “Well, old chap,” he said, “I’m off to see Morelli now. You can bet that it will be all right. Things looked a bit funny last night. They always do when one’s tired and it’s dark. Last night, you see, you imagined things.” But Tony looked up at him quietly with grave eyes.