“It’s not a house, you know, Mrs. Maxwell. Nor even a flat, exactly. They call it a studio flat. And we found we actually have a wee musicians’ gallery on the premises--or rather a gallery without the musicians. Isn’t it quaint?” “It would be much quainter if you found you had the musicians on the premises without the gallery,” said Ursula, bending over her sums, at the table; she had no right at all to be aware of the social entertainment part of the room; still less to enter into it. It sounded quite gracefully witty in her mind before she actually said it, but directly it was out, she knew it was a failure. It fell into the web of conversation, parting it, instead of drawing it together by tiny silken stitches.... Ursula sat with her head bent and eyelids lowered, while the hot scarlet shame dragged up over her neck. She was conscious of Nina’s astonished disapproval, of Mrs. Fraser’s perfunctory little laugh, of Gums preparing a tactless reproof. But most of all, she was conscious of having been merely clumsy where she had hoped to be effective. “Can’t Ursula do her lessons--her studies--in the dining-room yet, Miss Roberts? They must have cleared away by now. Why, it’s nearly lunch-time.” Whereupon Mrs. Fraser naturally said she must go home. And Mrs. Maxwell naturally tried to amend her blunder by inviting her to lunch. And Nina was apprehensive as to the quality of the lunch--quantity there always was. And Aunt Lavvy, usually to be relied upon for those deft silken stitches that were Ursula’s envy, was still not quite serenely herself--it was so disconcerting to be associated, even by a few courteous questions, with financial losses and banks and defaulting clerks. Finally, Hal saw Mrs. Fraser into her car; and then, instead of returning into the house, disappeared into the shrubbery. [VI] HE sat uncomfortably on a damp, tree-stump and stared at William’s earthworks. Was it possible that he had kept back a one-pound treasury bank note? Kept back--taken--stolen.... Rats! Of course he hadn’t stolen it. Tramps stole, and burglars, and--sometimes--servants. Bank-clerks, too, occasionally. “But--but not _us_.” If he hadn’t--taken--it, though ... and here it was, folded in his coat’s inner pocket--why not have produced it when Aunt Lavvy had turned round from the telephone, and said: “Hal----”? Why not have said: “Here you are, Aunt Lavvy. The chap made a mistake, and handed me out six of ’em.” It was incredible that he should have lied then. That was the real lapse. He could remember the mood in which he had--the horror deepened ... the mood in which he had stolen the note, although it had receded to unfamiliarity.