They evidently did not hear Higgins announce him; so in order to attract their attention, he coughed somewhat significantly. Lady Marjorie jumped up as if she had been shot. Herbert Karne, however, retained his equilibrium. “Ha, Reggie, glad to see you!” he said, extending his uninjured arm. “When did you arrive? We did not hear you come in.” The young fellow shook hands with Lady Marjorie. “Only a few minutes ago,” he replied. “I have been talking to Bobs in the hall. I hope I--er--do not intrude?”--looking from one to the other with a glance of meaning. “Not at all,” answered Karne, quickly. “A visit from you could never be an intrusion.” Reggie was young and correspondingly imprudent. “It is very kind of you to say so,” he rejoined, accepting the cup of tea which Lady Marjorie handed to him. “Only two is company and three is none, isn’t it? May I--er--be the first to offer my--er--congratulations--and all that sort of thing, don’t you know?” The colour flamed into Lady Marjorie’s cheeks. “Congratulations?” repeated Herbert, with a puzzled air. “Oh; on my recovery, I suppose! Yes, I am going on very nicely, thank you, Reggie; my arm is nearly well.” He hoped that the _contretemps_ was averted, but unfortunately it was not. The young man had less gumption than he gave him credit for. “Oh--er--I didn’t mean that,” he pursued provokingly. “I--er--that is to say--I was told that you and her ladyship were going to make a match of it, so to speak. I was delighted to hear the news.” Karne’s brow clouded. “I am afraid that you have been misinformed,” he replied evenly, not trusting himself to look at Lady Marjorie; and Reggie Stannard, feeling somehow that he had blundered, begged his pardon and changed the subject. Lady Marjorie’s feelings were in a tumult, but she joined in the conversation with merry vivacity; and Stannard had not the faintest idea that her gaiety was strained, and that she was longing for him to go all the time. Karne knew, however, and watched her in silence. He felt like a patient who awaits the surgeon’s knife. If there must needs be pain, he wanted to get it over quickly. There was an awkward silence when Stannard eventually left. They both felt that there was something to be said; and neither knew exactly how to begin. At last Lady Marjorie came over and stood by his chair. “Am I so very distasteful to you, then, Herbert?” she said. “Distasteful? What an idea!” he replied, not meeting her gaze. “Why, a man never had a more indefatigable nurse or truer friend than you, Marjorie.” “And yet you denied the rumour that Stannard brought as calmly as if it meant nothing,” she rejoined, her words coming with difficulty. “And I--oh, how can I say it? Herbert, I can’t repress my feelings any longer. You may despise me for telling you, but I can’t help it. I love you. _I love you!_ And all the world knows it except yourself.”