The two sat up rather late that night, for Maud disliked going to bed nearly as much as she disliked getting up, and it was usually Thurso who moved the adjournment. But to-night he was extraordinarily alert; as he had said, to-day had been the first on which there had been any break in the tempest of illness which was devastating the village, and his spirits seemed to have risen in sympathy, enabling him to think and speak of other things than the immediate preoccupations which surrounded them. And chief among these was London and the reopening of Thurso House. His father, the late Earl, had died just a year ago, and next week the house was to celebrate its re-entry into London life with an adequately magnificent ball. His wife, who had stopped in town, was seeing to all arrangements, and when Catherine undertook to see to a thing, it was unnecessary for anyone else, however closely concerned, to feel any anxiety as to the completeness with which it would be seen to. "I heard from Catherine this morning," he said--"at least, I heard from her typewriter. She did not even sign it. She is up to the eyes in a million affairs, and hopes I am well. Really it seems to me that most of the festivities, as well as all the charities of London would collapse unless she saw to them. And there's the ball next week. I shall go up for the night, though whether I stop depends on how things go on here. Of course, you'll come." Maud looked at him in mild surprise; it was as if he had said, "Of course, you'll have breakfast to-morrow." "It is _not_ improbable," she said. "Or did you really suppose that your house was going to make its debut again, and me not there?" "Oh, well, I didn't know," he said. "You do now. What fun it will be! It will be crammed with kings and queens like 'Alice in Wonderland.' Thurso, what a good thing Catherine is so smart! I hate the word, but she is: she is magnificent. She said the other day that there are only two sorts of entertaining possible--the one where you have a great party, with kings and queens, and everybody in orders and tiaras; and the other where it is just tea-gowns and two or three real friends. I don't believe she has ever had a party at which there were more than eight people and less than forty." "It's usually not less than forty," remarked Thurso. "Oh no; it's often less than eight. Of course I shall come. Do have a special all the way to town; it will be so expensive! Catherine--I must quote her again--says, 'Either have a special or go third.'" "With a preference for specials?"