"The giving all on our side! You have made no return!" Judith cried. "It isn't true, Alfred. You know it isn't true! But, even if it were true--a woman loves a man who allows her to give to him." "Isn't that just the trouble?" the King exclaimed, exasperated by the conflict of feeling within him into a flash of unusual insight. Then the parlour-maid re-entered the room. Hard on the heels of the parlour-maid, Uncle Bond made his appearance. The little man had not dressed for dinner. He was still wearing his usual, loose-fitting shooting clothes. "You will excuse my clothes, I know, my boy," he remarked as he slipped into his place, at the head of the table. "It has taken me all my time to get here at all. I have just had a violent quarrel, upstairs, with 'Cynthia.' I told her that you were here to dinner today, that you were an honoured guest, and that I wished to show you proper attention. She told me to get on with my work. I told her that I would not be hag-ridden--that caught her on the raw!--that she was merely my familiar spirit, not my master. Then I slammed the door on her. And here we are!" It was difficult to resist Uncle Bond's chuckling good-humour. The King found himself smiling at the little man's characteristic nonsense, almost in spite of himself. Judith proved more obdurate. Judith appeared to be really piqued by Uncle Bond's entrance. As the meal proceeded, she became increasingly silent. An obtuser man than Uncle Bond must have become quickly conscious that something was wrong. From the mischievous twinkle which shone in the little man's sparkling eyes, the King judged that Uncle Bond was only too well aware of the tension that had sprung up, so unexpectedly, between Judith and himself. Oddly enough, Uncle Bond did nothing to relieve the situation. The little man was, or affected to be, very hungry. Setting himself, ably seconded by the parlour-maid, to make good the courses which had already been served, he confined his attention, almost entirely to his plate. The meal went forward, for some time, in these circumstances, with a minimum of talk, which was not far removed from dumb show. The broad rays of the setting sun were shining full into the room now through the open window doors immediately facing the King. In the awkward, recurring silences at the table, his eyes turned, again and again, to the window doors, and the superb landscape which they framed. Field and wood, winding road, and blossoming hedgerow, cottage and farm, lay, peaceful and serene, spread out there, before him, in the bright, evening light. And beyond, beyond it all, lay London. What was happening there? The question startled the King. Engrossed in his own thoughts, absorbed by his own emotions, he had entirely forgotten the crisis. Was everything still proceeding in accordance with plan? Why had he not heard from the Duke? Had not the Duke said that he would be communicating with him?