After dinner they all returned to the drawing-room, where inferior coffee was distributed round in absurdly diminutive cups, Potter attitudinising over it like a high-priest performing the rites of some sinister religious ceremony. Clare and Helen sat together on one of the settees, discoursing inaudibly and apparently in private; the Head commenced an anecdote that was suggested by Speed's glance at a photograph on the mantelpiece, a photograph of a coloured man attired in loose-fitting cotton draperies. "My servant when I was in India," the Head had informed Speed. "An excellent fellow--most--um, yes--faithful and reliable. One of the earliest of my converts. I well remember the first morning after I had engaged him to look after me he woke me up with the words 'Chota Hazra, sahib'--" Speed feigning interest, managed to keep his eyes intermittently on the two girls. He wondered if they were discussing him. "I said--'I can't--um--see Mr. Chota Hazra this time in the morning.'" Speed nodded with a show of intelligence, and then, to be on the safe side if the joke had been reached, gave a slight titter. "Of course," said the Head, after a pause, "it was all my imperfect knowledge of Hindostanee. 'Chota hazra' means--um, yes--breakfast!" Speed laughed loudly. He had the feeling after he had laughed that he had laughed too loudly, for everything seemed so achingly silent after the echoes had died away, silent except for the eternal hiss of the gas in the chandeliers. It was as if his laughter had startled something; he could hear, in his imagination, the faint fluttering of wings as if something had flown away. A curious buzzing came into his head; he thought perhaps it might be due to the mediocre Burgundy that he had drunk with his dinner. Then for one strange unforgettable second he saw Helen's sky-blue eyes focussed full upon him and it was in them that he read a look of half-frightened wonderment that sent the blood tingling in his veins. He said, with a supreme inward feeling of recklessness: "I would love to hear Miss Ervine play Mendelssohn." He half expected a dreadful silence to supervene and everybody to stare at him as the author of some frightful conversational _faux pas_; he had the feeling of having done something deliberately and provocatively unconventional. He saw the girl's eyes glance away from him and the blush rekindle her cheeks in an instant. It seemed to him also that she clung closer to Clare and that Clare smiled a little, as a mother to a shy child. Of course it was all a part of his acute sensitiveness; his remark was taken to be more than a touch of polite gallantry. Mrs. Ervine said: "Helen's very nervous," and the Head, rolling his head from side to side in an ecstasy of anticipation, said: "Ah yes, most certainly. Delightful that will be--um, yes--most delightful. Helen, you must not disappoint Mr. Speed on his first night at Millstead."