"I trust Mrs. Force is well," said the lady of Seawood, and there was a note of anxiety in her voice. There HAD been a queer taste to the lobster a la Newburg. She remembered mentioning it to Mr. Bingle after the company had gone. Mr. Force was guilty of an uneasy start. What was the woman driving at? What put it into her head to mention his wife? Why SHOULDN'T his wife be well? "Quite well, thank you," he said at the end of a deep exhalation. Indeed he was quite without breath when he came to the "thank you." It would have been better if he hadn't tried to be so courteous. "Quite well," would have been sufficient. He realised, as he wheezily filled his lungs, that the "thank you" was entirely superfluous. In any event, it wasn't so important that he should have gone to the pains of upsetting his dignity in order to say it, no matter if it was the proper thing to say. He always hated anything that caused him to become red in the face. "It's quite a relief," said Mrs. Bingle, brightening. It would have been dreadful if anything HAD been the matter with the lobster. But Mr. Force knew nothing whatever about the suspected lobster and being in considerable doubt as to just how much of Miss Glenn's story the Bingles had learned, very naturally believed that the good lady was concerned about Mrs. Force's peace of mind rather than her state of health. He grew perfectly scarlet and mumbled something about his wife sleeping like a log, and then hastily followed Mr. Bingle out of the room. "Troubles never come singly, do they, Force?" said Bingle as they mounted the stairs. He sighed deeply. "So they say," said Force, also sighing. He was thinking of the interview that was to come. He was wondering just how he was going to explain things to Mr. Bingle. "She isn't to be married till spring, but--Oh, well, I suppose I shouldn't complain." Mr. Force stopped stock-still on the stairs. "Mar-married?" he gasped. "Are you crazy?" "Almost," said Mr. Bingle promptly. "If anything more happens, I'll be wholly so. Come in, Force. Now, old chap, what's on YOUR mind?" They had entered the study. Mr. Bingle faced his visitor after closing the door carefully behind him. "Out with it? Don't keep me in suspense. Has--has the case finally gone against me?" "Who is going to be married in the spring?" demanded Force, wiping his brow. "Miss Fairweather. I thought you knew." "Oh, the devil! Of course not! What do I know about Miss Fairweather's affairs?" "Flanders is the man. He's the lucky dog. An old affair, Force. Tremendously romantic story back of--" "Needn't mind, Bingle. I don't care to hear it at present. I've got something a great deal more important to think about--dammit." He sat down heavily, and began fumbling for his cigar case. His forehead was dripping wet. "It must be serious," said Mr. Bingle slowly, "or you wouldn't be swearing as you do, Force. I've never heard you swear before."