Near the Clibran-Bells Gertrude found a house with a large conservatory, and, all leaping to the prospect of a change, the decision was come to, the remainder of the Fern Square lease disposed of, and the household was moved. The new house was one room smaller than the old. Serge took a studio at the top of a huge caravanserai of offices near the Town Hall Square and arranged to live there. He had painted a portrait of Mrs. Clibran-Bell which had brought him a commission or two, and he regarded himself as sufficiently opulent to pay the not very exorbitant rent. The removal took place in March, and a very pleasant house-warming was held. Gertrude sent out the invitations and expressly did not invite Bennett Lawrie. He turned up all the same, more silent, melancholy and romantical than ever. He sat in a corner and spoke to nobody, and looked so entirely dejected that at last Minna took pity on him, smiled her sweetest, and said: "Why do you always play the skeleton at the feast? Are you really thinking of death or only of what there is for supper?" "I didn't know I looked like that," answered Bennett with an effort. "I was feeling rather happy listening to you all." "Looking on," said Minna, "is a dreadfully bad habit. Whenever I do it, I always find myself wondering who is going to be married to whom, or, at any rate, who is in love with whom, and how it is all going to turn out. That is too horribly depressing. It is much better to be an airy trifler. Why don't you try a little airy trifling?" "You can't do it alone." "That is _quite_ good. . . . Now then--one--two--three--hop." "I really couldn't trifle with you, Minna." This was true. The memory of the day by the river was much too vivid. Bennett was nothing if not rigidly monogamous. Minna did not know that. This new game, which had never occurred to her before, amused her. She went on: "But you're doing it quite nicely." Bennett dropped back into the darkest gloom. He began to feel angry with her and said savagely: "Am I?" "Indeed you are. And as you ain't going to be a little clergyman, it doesn't matter." "It does. It always matters." "It only matters if--shall I say it?" "You generally say what you feel inclined to say." "It only matters if our little gentleman is in love." Bennett scowled. Minna went on with her banter until Annette came into the room with a tray bearing lemonade and claret. Bennett sprang up and hurried to meet her. Minna laughed and nodded to Basil Haslam to come and take Bennett's seat. When he had done so, she said: "Have you ever noticed my little sister, Annette?" "Not particularly. Why?" "She is over there, by that young Lawrie." "Young idiot." "What do you think of her?" "She is looking quite pretty. Has she done her hair differently?" "No, nothing is different." "Excitement, perhaps." "Per--haps." Basil turned to Minna. He was not interested in Annette. "Minna, you look . . ." "Ta, ta, ta . . . Are we to have it all over again?"