"Stop him," said Brett to Vanbrugh in an energetic whisper. "Now Brown, my dear fellow," he continued aloud, sitting down beside Mrs. Darche, "do not begin the day by giving us the Sunday Herald entire, because we have all read it and we know all about the wreck--" Mr. Brown, who was used to interruption and to being checked when he was about to bore people, looked up with mild eyes and protested a little. "I say, Brett, you know, you are rather abrupt sometimes, in your way of shutting people up. But as you say, they have probably all read the story. I only thought--" "Only thought!" cried Vanbrugh, taking his cue from his friend. "Only! As though thinking were not the most important function of the human animal, next to luncheon--" "I have not read the story Mr. Brown alludes to," observed Mrs. Willoughby rather primly. "Oh--it is all about natural history, and cannibals and latitudes and people in a boat," said Brett talking very fast. "All that kind of thing. As for the news I can give you lots of it. Great fire, strike, a new bacillus in postage-stamp gum--awfully dangerous, Mrs. Willoughby. Always use a sponge for moistening your stamps or you will get something--some sort of new disease--what is it, Vanbrugh? You always know everything." "Gum-boils," suggested Vanbrugh, without hesitation. Brett gave him a grateful look, as Mr. Brown's laughter assured him that the danger was over for the present. But Brett did not desist until Stubbs opened the dining-room door and they all went in to luncheon. Mrs. Darche watched him curiously, wondering what was the matter. She had never before heard him talk so nervously. Vanbrugh had not the slightest idea of what had happened, but blindly followed Brett's lead, and helped him to annihilate Mr. Brown, whenever the latter showed the least inclination to tell a story. Mr. Brown, however, was an obstinate person. He was not quick on his feet mentally, so to say, and an insignificant idea had as strong a hold upon his thoughts as an important one. Somehow he managed to tell the tale of the wreck to Mrs. Willoughby and Dolly in the little shifting of companionship which always takes place on leaving table. To do him justice, he told it very shortly, and Mrs. Darche did not chance to be listening at the time. Stubbs was offering everybody coffee, and Marion had a box of cigarettes and was standing before the fireplace with Vanbrugh and Brett, exchanging a few words with the latter. Suddenly Mr. Brown's voice rose above the rest. "Of course," he was saying, "nobody ever knew positively that the man had really been drowned. But he had never turned up--" "And probably never will," answered Dolly, glancing nervously at Marion. But she had caught the words and had turned a little pale. Vanbrugh looked over to Brown. "For heaven's sake, Jim," he said, in a low voice. "Talk about something else, if you must, you know!" Mr. Brown's face fell as he realised his mistake.