“I used to notice the same thing about my wife in the early days of our acquaintance. There is a peculiar charm about that unexpectedness when it is introduced into politics. It quite prevents any feeling of flatness.” “Now one would have imagined”--Usk was still pursuing his own train of thought--“that she would have come to meet me after that letter.” “The unexpected again, you see.” “But how did you know anything about our----? Well, it wasn’t a quarrel----” “The suspension of friendly relations? I inferred it from what I saw after you were gone.” “And you spoke to Félicia? Very kind of you, I’m sure, but--well, you know----” “You prefer to conduct your own love affairs? Quite so. Make your mind easy; I did not speak to Félicia. But if I remember rightly, I did send you in your mother’s letter a strong hint not to stay away more than the two days you intended at first.” “Yes, I know, but you said ‘unless it will damage your chances,’ and it would have done, horribly. You see, it was such a piece of good luck old Morrell’s taking to me so tremendously, when he had hated the very mention of a successor before, that I couldn’t go and hurt his feelings. He would drag me round the constituency, and hunt up all the local organisers to introduce me to them, and we really covered an immense amount of ground. The party agent said I couldn’t have made a better start.” “Don’t think I want to see you less keen. It isn’t that. Did Félicia tell you any news in her letter--anything that had happened?” “No; there was nothing of that sort. But really, Uncle Cyril, I don’t think she was angry with me for staying away. I wrote her awfully long letters--and sent her things, too. She couldn’t think I had forgotten her.” “I never thought she did. But did she express regret for anything in particular, or merely for her general treatment of you? I have an object in asking,” as Usk looked at him in surprise. “Don’t think it’s mere curiosity.” “She didn’t mention anything definite--except just to say that if things went wrong between us, it was Maimie Logan’s fault, not hers, which I could have told her myself. Oh, by the bye, that’s another queer thing. I had an hour or two to spare in town, so I ran down to Bradcross and looked up Mr and Mrs Steinherz’s marriage at St Mary Windicotes. It was there all right, but the queer thing is that some months ago a lady came and asked about it, and got a copy of the entry, and I’m pretty sure it was Miss Logan.” “Exactly what I thought. How did you find out?”