He stared--ungratefully I thought, considering the effort it had been. “But,” I continued, “you may be very sure we shall take every care of your sister-in-law, and return her safe and well into your hands on September the first, which is the date my contract with the owner of the Elsa expires.” “I’m afraid,” said he, “I wasn’t clear. We all go. Betti included, and Jumps and Jane too. I’m very sorry,” he interrupted, as I opened my mouth, “very sorry indeed that things should have turned out so unexpectedly, but it is absolutely impossible for us to go on. Out of the question.” And he set his jaws, and shut his mouth into a mere line of opposition and finality. Well, my friends, what do you say to that? What do you think of this example of the surprises life has in store for one? And, incidentally, what do you think of human nature? Especially of human nature when it caravans? And still more especially of human nature that is also English? Not without reason do our neighbours label the accursèd island _perfide Albion_. It is true I am not clear about the _Albion_, but I am very clear about the _perfide_. “Do you mean to tell me,” I said, leaning toward him across the table and forcing him to meet my gaze, “that your sister-in-law _wishes_ to go with you?” “She does,” said he. “Then, sir----” I began, amazement and indignation struggling together within me. “I tell you, Baron,” he interrupted, “we are very sorry things have turned out like this. My wife is most genuinely distressed. But she too sees the impossibility--unforeseen complications demand we should go home.” “Sir----” I again began. “My dear Baron,” he again interrupted, “it needn’t in the least interfere with you. Old James will stay with you if you and the Baroness would like to go on.” “Sir, I have paid for a month, and have only had a week.” “Well, go on and finish your month. Nobody is preventing you.” “But I was persuaded to join the tour on the understanding that it was a party--that we were all to be together--four weeks together----” “My dear fellow,” said he (never had I been addressed as that before), “you talk as if it were a business arrangement, a buying and selling, as if we were bound by a contract, under agreement----” “Your sister-in-law inveigled me into it,” I exclaimed, emphasizing what I said by regular beats on the table with my forefinger, “on the definite understanding that it was to be a party and she--was--to be--a--member of it.” “Pooh, my dear Baron--Betti’s definite understandings. She’s in love, and when a woman’s that it’s no earthly use----” “What?” said I, startled for a moment out of all self-possession. “Well?” he said, looking at me in surprise. “Why not? She’s young. Or do you consider it improper for widows----” “Improper? Natural, sir--natural. How long----?” “Oh, before the tour even started. And propinquity, seeing each other every day--well,” he finished suddenly, “one mustn’t talk about it, you know.”