"They were all very kind--and I really don't think mother's any worse than usual. About her frail ordinary." He seemed inclined to dismiss the matter with this brief summary. "And what did you do with yourself?" "I took the Tube up to the Park and had a walk." She paused. "I met Hobart and Cicely Gaynor." "Oh, the happy pair! How were they flourishing?" "They--well, they warned me off, Godfrey. At least she did--and he had to follow suit, of course." Godfrey had been helping himself to whisky and soda-water; tumbler in hand, he walked across the studio and back again. "Hobart's one of the very few people in the world I'm really fond of." "Well, you know, Winnie, you wanted it this way. I assure you I don't find it altogether comfortable either." He emptied the tumbler in a long draught and set it down on the table. She jumped up quickly, came to him, and clasped her arms round his neck; she could but just reach, for he was tall. "And they've all been at me--and at you about me--in Woburn Square too, I suppose?" "On my honour, you weren't once mentioned the whole time, Winnie. They were all three just awfully kind, and glad to see me." Winnie's face wore much the same smile as when she had regarded Cicely Gaynor's erect back in retreat from her. "That was rather clever of them," she remarked. "Never to have mentioned me!" "Are you being quite just?" He spoke gently and kissed her. "No, dear," she said, and burst into tears. "How can I be just when they're trying to take you from me?" "Neither they nor anybody else can do that." And then--for a space again--she believed her lover and forgot the rest. But on the Monday morning there came two mauve envelopes. Winnie was down first as it chanced--and this time she looked at the postmarks. Both bore the imprint, "W.C.," clearly indicative of Bloomsbury. Winnie smiled, and proffered to herself an excuse for her detective investigation. "You see, I thought one of them might be from Cicely Gaynor. I'm quite sure she uses mauve envelopes too." The world of propriety seemed to be draping itself in mauve--not, after all, a very cheerful colour. Godfrey came in, glanced at the two mauve envelopes, glanced across at Winnie, and put the envelopes in his pocket. After a silence, he remarked that the bacon was very good. CHAPTER XI AN UNMENTIONED NAME