The dinner was a little noisier and gayer than usual to-night. Every one talked, laughed, told anecdotes, let off puns, more or less atrocious--except the host, who sat in his place an image of gloom. Happily Mrs. St. Aubyn was one of those stout, healthy, contented people who enjoy their dinner, and only talk about as much as is required for the assistance of digestion. She told prosy stories about her pigs and poultry--which were altogether superior, intellectually and physically, to other people's pigs and poultry--and only paused once or twice to exclaim, "You are looking awfully tired, Mr. Tregonell. You must have overdone it to-day. Don't you take curaçoa? I always do after ice pudding. It's so comforting. Do you know at the last dinner I was at before I came here the curaçoa was ginger brandy. Wasn't that horrid? People ought not to do such things." Leonard suggested in a bored voice that this might have been the butler's mistake. "I don't think so. I believe it was actual meanness--but I shall never take liqueur at _that_ house again," said Mrs. St. Aubyn, in an injured tone. "Are you going to this picnic to-morrow?" "I think not. I'm afraid the walk would be too much for me--and I am not fond enough of Mrs. Torrington to enjoy two hours' _tête-à-tête_ in a pony-carriage. My girls will go, of course. And I suppose you will be there," added Mrs. St. Aubyn, with intention. "No, Vandeleur, Monty, and I are going shooting." "Well, if I were in your shoes and had such a pretty wife I should not leave her to go picnicking about the world with such an attractive man as the Baron." Leonard gave an uneasy little laugh, meant to convey the idea of supreme security. "I'm not jealous of de Cazalet," he said. "Surely you don't call him an attractive man." "Dangerously attractive," replied Mrs. St. Aubyn, gazing at the distant Baron, whose florid good looks were asserting themselves at the further end of the table, on Christabel's left hand--she had Mr. St. Aubyn's grey, contented face, glistening with dinner, on her right. "He is just the kind of man I should have fallen in love with when I was your wife's age." "Really," exclaimed Leonard, incredulously. "But I suppose after you married St. Aubyn, you left off falling in love." "Of course. I did not put myself in the way of temptation. I should never have encouraged such a man--handsome, accomplished, unscrupulous--as Baron de Cazalet." "I don't think his good looks or his unscrupulousness will make any difference to my wife," said Leonard. "She knows how to take care of herself." "No doubt. But that does not release you from the duty of taking care. You had better go to the picnic."