"Oh, you misunderstood him," she said. "He was consulted, but fell ill before he could go into all the facts or write his report. But he had expressed a favourable opinion of the Alethea to my husband." She paused, and then added, "If you'd taken the trouble to read the prospectus you'd have known that, Mr. Morewood." Little Lady Richard laughed nervously, glanced round, and rose from the table; it was sooner than the ladies were wont to move but, as she said, nobody seemed to be eating any fruit, and so there was nothing to stay for. The men sat down again. Morewood perceived very clearly that a constraint had come upon them; but he was possessed by curiosity. "Well, I should like to see the prospectus now," he said. "You'll find one or two over there," said Dick, jerking his head towards a writing-table, but not rising. Morewood made in the direction indicated, a low mutter from Dick following him. Then Jimmy observed: "He doesn't understand a thing about it, you know, and of course he didn't follow what Maturin said." The others nodded. This explanation was indeed the simple one; in most cases it would have been accepted without demur; or recourse would have been had to the hypothesis of a sudden change in the Professor's opinion; indeed Marchmont broached this solution in an off-hand way. Neither view was explicitly rejected, but a third possibility was in their minds, one which would not and could not have been there, had any one of the three had the settling of the prospectus and conducted the business with Maturin. But Alexander Quisante, assisted only by cousin Mandeville, had conducted the business and drawn the prospectus. Morewood came back, sat down, and poured out a glass of wine. "Yes, I see what it says," he observed. His mood of malice was gone, he looked troubled and rather remorseful. "Well, I only repeated what Maturin said. I'd no idea there was anything about him in the prospectus." The two reasonable views were suggested again by Dick and Marchmont. "It's impossible that I misunderstood him, but of course he may have changed his mind." He paused, seeming to think. "I gather that he put nothing in writing?" he went on. "He only talked to you about it?" After a little pause Jimmy Benyon said, "Not exactly to us--to the people at the office, you know. And there was nothing in writing as you say--at least so I understand too." Morewood passed his hand through his hair; the ruffled locks intensified the ruefulness of his aspect; he had before his eyes the picture of May Quisante's silence and her so careful, so deliberate little speech after it. He tossed off his wine almost angrily, as Dick Benyon rose, saying, "Let's have coffee in the garden. It's a splendid night." He added with a rather uneasy laugh, "Quisante's coming to-morrow! We'll leave him to tackle you himself, Morewood."