He shook his head with a little grimace. “You may be sure I shall never tell you those,” he said. “Then I will see you after dinner,” she assented. “There are a lot of people coming to-night, and I am simply up to my eyes in work. You bridegrooms,” she patted his shoulder with her fan reproachfully, “have no idea what chaos you bring into the domestic life of your unfortunate relatives of the future.” Edith stood aloof, in the attitude she had adopted when he had released her, watchful, curious, in the scene, but not of it. It was an effect which the presence of Mrs. Cathcart invariably produced upon her daughter. It was not an obliteration, not exactly an eclipse, as the puzzled Gilbert had often observed. It was as though the entrance of one character of a drama were followed by the immediate exit of her who had previously occupied the scene. He pictured Edith waiting at the wings for a cue which would bring her into active existence again, and that cue was invariably the retirement of her mother. “There are quite a number of nice people coming to-night, Gilbert,” said Mrs. Cathcart, glancing at a slip of paper in her hand. “There are some you don’t know, and some I want you very much to meet. I am sure you will like dear Dr. Cassylis----” A smothered exclamation caught her ear, and she looked up sharply. Gilbert’s face was set: it was void of all expression. The girl saw the mask and wondered. “What is it?” asked Mrs. Cathcart. “Nothing,” said Gilbert steadily, “you were talking about your guests.” “I was saying that you must meet Dr. Barclay-Seymour--he is a most charming man. I don’t think you know him?” Gilbert shook his head. “Well, you ought to,” she said. “He’s a dear friend of mine, and why on earth he practises in Leeds instead of maintaining an establishment in Harley Street I haven’t the slightest idea. The ways of men are beyond finding out. Then there is.…” She reeled off a list of names, some of which Gilbert knew. “What is the time?” she asked suddenly. Gilbert looked at his watch. “A quarter to eight? I must go,” she said. “I will see you immediately after dinner.” She turned back as she reached the door irresolutely. “I suppose you aren’t going to change that absurd plan of yours,” she asked hopefully. Gilbert had recovered his equanimity. “I do not know to which absurd plan you are referring,” he said. “Spending your honeymoon in town,” she replied. “I don’t think Gilbert should be bothered about that.” It was the girl who spoke, her first intrusion into the conversation. Her mother glanced at her sharply. “In this case, my dear,” she said freezingly, “it is a matter in which I am more concerned than yourself.” Gilbert hastened to relieve the girl of the brunt of the storm. Mrs. Cathcart was not slow to anger, and although Gilbert himself had never felt the lash of her bitter tongue, he had a shrewd suspicion that his future wife had been a victim more than once.