'But I'm not a gay bachelor. My boy is coming to join me in the summer holidays, wherever I am,' said Aylmer. 'Ah, but that's not the point. I should like to go with you now--at once. Don't you wish we were both going, Edith? Why aren't we going with him tomorrow?' 'Surely June's just the nice time in London, Bruce,' said Vincy, in his demure voice. 'Won't it be terribly hot?' said Lady Everard vaguely. She always thought every place must be terribly hot. 'Venice? Are you going to Venice? Delightful! The Viennese are so charming, and the Austrian officers--Oh, you're going to Sicily first? Far too hot. Paul La France--the young singer, you know--told me that when he was in Sicily his voice completely altered; the heat quite affected the _velouté_ of his voice, as the French call it--and what a voice it is at its best! It's not the _highest_ tenor, of course, but the medium is so wonderfully soft and well developed. I don't say for a moment that he will ever be a Caruso, but as far as he goes--and he goes pretty far, mind--it's really wonderful. You're coming on Wednesday, aren't you, dear Mrs Ottley? Ah!'... She stopped and held up her small beaded fan, 'what's that the band's playing? I know it so well; everyone knows it; it's either _Pagliacci_ or _Bohème_, or _some_thing. No, isn't it really? What is it? All the old Italian operas are coming in again, by the way, you know, my dear... _Rigoletto_, _Lucia_, _Traviata_--the _bel canto_--that sort of thing; there's nothing like it for showing off the voice. Wagner's practically gone out (at least what _I_ call out), and I always said Debussy wouldn't last. Paul La France still clings to Brahms--Brahms suits his voice better than anyone else. He always falls back on Brahms, and dear de Lara; and Tosti; of course, Tosti. I remember...' * * * * * Aylmer and his guests had reached the stage of being apparently all lost in their own thoughts, and the conversation had been practically reduced to a disjointed monologue on music by Lady Everard, when the lights began to be lowered, and the party broke up. 'I'm coming to see you so soon,' said Vincy. CHAPTER XIV The Letter It was about a fortnight later. Edith and Bruce, from different directions, arrived at the same moment at their door, and went up together in the lift. On the little hall-table was a letter addressed to Edith. She took it up rather quickly, and went into the drawing-room. Bruce followed her. 'That a letter, Edith?' 'What do you suppose it is, Bruce?' 'What _could_ I have supposed it was, Edith? A plum pudding?' He laughed very much. 'You are very humorous today, Bruce.' She sat down with her hat, veil and gloves on, holding the letter. She did not go to her room, because that would leave her no further retreat. Bruce sat down exactly opposite to her, with his coat and gloves on. He slowly drew off one glove, folded it carefully, and put it down. Then he said amiably, a little huskily: