He found a chemist’s very quickly, and returned with the smelling-salts in a few moments. But Nouna had entirely recovered from her faintness, and instead of finding her reclining on the horse-hair sofa with closed eyes and a face of romantic paleness, George discovered her enthroned in an arm-chair, all vivacity and animation, holding a small but adoring court composed of the crew that had dogged their progress on the river. Massey was talking the most; but Captain Pascoe, by virtue of his superiority in years and position as well as a certain distinction of appearance and manner, was undoubtedly the most prominent and the most favoured courtier. For a moment George stopped in the doorway, as a terrible remembrance of the tale of the genie who locked the lady up in a glass case flashed into his mind. He dismissed the ugly fancy immediately; what reason had he for supposing Nouna had any unconfessed motive in sending him away? There was nothing now but to make the best of it, to join the party, and even to hear Captain Pascoe repeat the invitation up the river as Nouna had hoped, and reluctantly to add his own acceptance of it to his wife’s. The train in which the husband and wife returned to town was not crowded, and they had a compartment to themselves. The excitement of entertaining being over, Nouna took off her bonnet and leaned back in a corner with her eyes closed, tired out. “Where are your salts, dear?” asked George, putting his hand tenderly on her wavy hair. She opened her eyes languidly. “Salts! Oh, I don’t know. I never use them!” George was knocked over by this appalling confession. “Never use them! Then you did not want them when you sent me out for them?” he said, almost stammering. She half raised her heavy eyelids again with a malicious little smile, and patted his hand re-assuringly, with some pride in her own ingenuity, and quite as much in his. “Clever boy!” she whispered languidly. “You see I wanted to go up the river again, and I knew you wouldn’t introduce him so that he could invite me.” And clasping her little hands, which she had relieved of her gloves, with a beatific smile of perfect satisfaction, she curled her head into her left shoulder like a bird and prepared to doze. “How did you know it was Captain Pascoe?” asked George in a hard, dry voice. “Heard the little red man call him so,” murmured Nouna sleepily.