"But I assure you, my dear Corbett, she's simply wooden. Talk of making love, you might as well make love to--to a chair or a cabinet. I can tell you Markham's had a lucky escape." "I don't imagine that's what put him off," said Sir John. "He knew something." "What do you suppose he knew?" "Something the Benhams told them, I fancy. They'd some queer story. Rather think she ran after Dicky, and Mrs. Benham didn't like it." "Don't know what she wanted with him. Couldn't have been in love with him, I will say that for her." "Well, she seems to have preferred their bungalow to her own. Anyhow, they couldn't get her out of it." "I don't believe that story. We must be fair to the woman, Corbett." He thought he had really done it very well. Not only had he accounted honourably for his repulse, but he had cleared Elise. And he had cleared himself from the ghastly imputation of middle-age. Repulse or no repulse, he was proud of his spurt of youthful passion. And in another minute he had persuaded himself that his main motive had been the desire to be fair to Elise. "H'm! I don't know about being fair," said Sir John. "Anyhow, I congratulate you on your lucky escape." Mr. Waddington rose to go. "Of course--about what I told you--you won't let it go any further?" Sir John laughed out loud. "Of course I won't. Only wanted to know how far _you_ went. Might have gone farther and fared worse, what?" He rose, too, laughing. "If anybody tries to pump me I shall say you behaved very well. So you did, my dear fellow, so you did. Considering the provocation." He could afford to laugh. He had got it out of poor old Waddington, as he said he would. But to the eternal honour of Sir John Corbett, it did not go any further. When people tried to get it out of him he simply said that there was nothing in it, and that to his certain knowledge Waddington had behaved very well. As Barbara had prophesied, nobody believed that he had behaved otherwise. It was not for nothing that he was Mr. Waddington of Wyck. And in consequence of the revelations she had made to her friend, Miss Gregg, very early in the New Year Elise found other doors closed to her besides the Markhams' and the Waddingtons'. And behind the doors on each side of the White House respectable householders could sleep in their beds on Friday nights without fear of being wakened by the opening and shutting of Mrs. Levitt's door and by the shrill "Good nights" called out from its threshold and answered up the street The merry bridge parties and the little suppers were no more. Even the Rector's geniality grew more and more Christian and perfunctory, till he too left off stopping to talk to Mrs. Levitt when he met her in the street. 3