“To see whether the situation lends itself to elaborate or simple embroidery? She’s a real artist. _Have_ people been talking much?” she added, after a moment. “But of course they have.” “Privately, no doubt. That doesn’t matter. But, as far as I can discover, there’s been quite a successful conspiracy of mutual acceptance of Diana’s illness. The paragraphs about Dick have been useful, too.” “What sort of paragraphs?” asked Cecily, slowly. “Oh, things like, ‘We learn that Mr. Richard Mayne, the distinguished traveller and explorer, is engaged in active preparations for another expedition into the interior of Central Africa,’ and so on.” “Is Philippa married?” asked Cecily, suddenly. “No--apparently not, though why she should hesitate to make a good fellow unhappy, I don’t----” Her words were cut short by the maid’s announcement of Lady Wilmot. Rose and Cecily had barely time to exchange glances before she was upon them, in emerald green brocade and feather trimming. Like a Meredithian heroine she “swam” towards Cecily, whom she voluminously embraced. “Welcome home, my dear,” she cried, and added in a gloomy whisper, “but why didn’t you come before? And where is Diana? And how, I should ask, _is_ Diana?” This, while she shook hands with Rose, was delivered with the air of one who, while allowing herself for philanthropic purposes to have the appearance of being deceived, wishes to remind the deceiver that she possesses intelligence. “Diana has just gone out. She is splendidly well now, I’m thankful to say,” answered Cecily, smiling. “That’s why I was able to come home. And I was so glad it was possible, when I heard from Rose last week that it was poor Robert’s turn to look ill.” Lady Wilmot looked at her fixedly before she dropped, with an undeniable thud, into a neighboring chair. Her expression demanded imperatively whether ignorance or duplicity accounted for the remarks of her hostess. Cecily was faintly amused. She found herself a little curious as to the meaning of her guest’s portentous behavior, though her wonder was only slightly stirred, after all. Her mind was full of other matters. She put her hand on the bell. “We’ll have tea at once,” she said. Lady Wilmot stopped her with a commanding gesture. “Where is Robert?” she demanded. “At Aldeburgh,” returned Cecily. “He may be back to-day, though. He doesn’t expect me quite so soon. I’m to be a surprise for him.” Her smile this time was tinged with impatience. Lady Wilmot’s stare annoyed her. “Are you sure he’s at Aldeburgh?” she now inquired in a deep voice. “Certainly,” said Cecily, rather stiffly. Lady Wilmot settled her back more comfortably into the sofa cushions, and metaphorically untied her bonnet-strings. “My dear Cecily,” she began, “I know I may speak before Rose, and you mustn’t be upset by anything I am going to say. Now Robert _has_ been in town lately, I hear.”