‘You mustn’t be depressed—must he, Mr Craik? After all, my dear man, the business, as you call it, is not exactly entailed. But really, Sheila, I think it must be getting very late. Mr Bethany won’t come now. And the dear old thing ought certainly to have his say before we go any further; _oughtn’t_ he, Mr Danton? So what’s the use of worriting poor Ada’s ghost any longer. And as for poor Arthur—I haven’t the faintest desire in the world to hear the little cart drive up, simply in case it should be to leave your unfortunate husband behind it, Sheila. What it must be to be alone all night in this house with a dead and buried Frenchman’s face—well, I shudder, dear!’ ‘And yet, Mrs Lovat,’ said Mr Craik, with some little show of returning bravado, ‘as we make our bed, you know.’ ‘But in this case, you see,’ she replied reflectively, ‘if all accounts are true, Mr Craik, it’s manifestly the wicked Frenchman who has made the bed, and Sheila who refu—— But look; Mr Danton is fretting to get home.’ ‘If you’ll all go to the door,’ said Danton, seizing a fleeting opportunity to raise his eyebrows more expressively even than if he had again shrugged his shoulders at Sheila, ‘I’ll put out the light.’ The night air flowed into the dark house as Danton hastily groped his way out of the dining-room. ‘There’s only one thing,’ said Sheila slowly. ‘When I last saw my husband, you know, he was, I think, the least bit better. He was always stubbornly convinced it would all come right in time. That’s why, I think, he’s been spending his—his evenings away from home. But supposing it did?’ ‘For my part,’ said Mrs Lovat, breathing the faint wind that was rising out of the west, ‘I’d sigh; I’d rub my eyes; I’d thank God for such an exciting dream; and I’d turn comfortably over and go to sleep again. I’m all for Arthur—absolutely—back against the wall.’ ‘For my part,’ said Danton, looming in the dusk, ‘friend or no friend, I’d cut the—I’d cut him dead. But don’t fret, Mrs Lawford, devil or no devil, he’s gone for good.’ ‘And for my part—’ began Mr Craik; but the door at that moment slammed. Voices, however, broke out almost immediately in the porch. And after a hurried consultation, Lawford in his stagnant retreat heard the door softly reopen, and the striking of a match. And Mr Craik, followed closely by Danton’s great body, stole circumspectly across his dim chink, and the first adventurer went stumbling down the kitchen staircase. ‘I suppose,’ muttered Lawford, turning his head in the darkness, ‘they have come back to put out the kitchen gas.’ Danton began a busy tuneless whistle between his teeth. ‘Coming, Craik?’ he called thickly, after a long pause.