One thing I saw at once; that he wasn't anything like so much at his ease as the lady was. Perhaps he wasn't much used to dropping down promiscuous-like on folks like me. I felt fuddled enough, I will admit; and was beginning to wonder if I was standing on my head or heels. But then I'm not used to high society; and it doesn't take much to upset a silly thing like me. He seemed even more fuddled than I was--I was conscious of so much, at any rate--and stood there, staring, on the doorstep as if his tongue was tied. And what there was about me to tie his tongue, or anybody else's, was what I couldn't think. Only his behaving like that made me worse; so that the only thing I could do was to keep on rubbing my hands together as if I was half-witted. At last he did manage to say something. 'Can I speak to you, Mrs. Merrett, in private?' It reminded me of what he had wanted to do the day before. But this time I didn't know how to refuse. I don't believe that I had sense enough. 'If you'll walk in, sir.' He did walk in. Now as soon as you step into my passage, there's the parlour door upon the left. And as it was standing open, without waiting to be invited he walked right in. I meant to tell him about Miss Desmond being in the kitchen; but I felt that stupid that I didn't know how to say it. He upset me much more than he had done the day before. To begin with, I couldn't imagine what he was at. He was all of a fidget. And he being so big, and all the gentleman, it did seem so ridiculous. First he put his hat upon the table, with his umbrella alongside of it. Then he took up his hat, and began to brush it with his sleeve. Then he took up his umbrella, and sticking the point into my carpet, leaned upon the handle. Then he appeared to make up his mind that perhaps, after all, they might both of them be safe, so back again he laid them. Then he started rubbing his gloves together, and putting his hands in front of him and behind. Then he got as far as a remark. 'May I ask you, Mrs. Merrett, to sit down for a few minutes?' 'If you don't mind, sir, I'd rather stand.' My answer seemed at once to disconcert him and to make him pull himself together. He went and leaned against the mantelshelf; as I've noticed men, whether they're gentlemen or not, seem fond of doing. It's like a looking-glass to some women. I'm sure Mr. FitzHoward is standing in front of a fireplace most of the time there's one about for him to stand in front of. Directly Mr. Howarth felt that mantelpiece in the small of his back, he began to seem more at his ease. 'I was sorry to hear yesterday that you have had no news of your husband lately.' 'Were you indeed, sir?' 'I cannot imagine what possible grounds you have for associating me with his absence.' 'Whether that is true or not, sir, you know better than I do.' 'I understand that these absences of his are by no means infrequent.' 'That is so. Sometimes he has been away from me for months together.'