"I wouldn't. You said he drops his aitches. Weave," said Miss Palliser, "a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, but whatever you do, don't ask him to dinner." "Why not?" "Because ten to one it would make him most horribly uncomfortable. Not that that matters so much. But wouldn't the faithful Robert think it a little odd?" "Robert is too faithful to think anything at all." "I'm not so sure of that. Personally, I wish you _would_ ask him to dinner--I seem to foresee a certain amount of amusing incident." "Well, I don't think I will ask him--to dinner. Perhaps he wouldn't enjoy it. But as I've got to talk over his play with him, I should like to ask him to something." "Ask him to coffee afterwards." "Coffee hardly seems enough." "It depends. Serve it festively--on a table, and pour it out yourself. Offer him strange and bewitching forms of food. Comfort him with--with angel cake--and savoury sandwiches and bread and butter." "I see--a sort of compromise?" "Exactly. Society, my child, is based on compromise." "Very well, then, I'll write him a note." She wrote it, and sent Robert with it to the library. "I suppose," said she, "it's about time to dress for dinner?" "Don't make yourself too pretty, dear." Lucia looked back through the doorway. "I shall make myself as pretty as ever I can. He has had nothing but ugly things to look at all his life." Miss Palliser apostrophized the departing figure of her friend. "Oh Lucy, Lucy, what an angelic little fool you _are_!" CHAPTER XXIV Half-past six, and Miss Harden had not yet appeared in the library. It was the first time that Rickman had passed a whole day without seeing her. He began to be uneasy, to wonder whether she were really ill. At seven he was leaving the house as usual for his hotel when Robert brought him a little three-cornered note. "Dear Mr. Rickman," it said (Dear Mr. Rickman!) "you see I have taken your advice, and given myself a holiday. I have spent it very pleasantly--reading _Helen in Leuce_. It would give me much pleasure if you would come in for coffee this evening, about eight o'clock. We can then talk it over. "Very truly yours, "LUCIA HARDEN. "You need only send a verbal answer." A verbal answer? No. That would never do. He could not trust himself with speech, but in writing he knew he was impeccable. "Dear Miss Harden. How very kind of you! But I am sorry that you did not give yourself a complete rest. I should be sorrier, if I were not so grateful for the trouble you have taken. It will give me great pleasure to come in this evening at the time you name. "With many thanks, yours very truly, "S.K. RICKMAN." He was not pleased with it; it erred on the side of redundancy; he had not attained the perfect utterance, the supreme simplicity. But he was obliged to let it go. Two hours later Robert announced that coffee was served in the drawing-room.