Miss Entwhistle hadn't supposed that any one ever talked like this before servants. She now knew that she had been mistaken. 'He's your doctor,' said Wemyss. 'My doctor?' 'I regard him entirely as your doctor.' 'I wish, Everard,' said Miss Entwhistle politely, after a pause, 'that I understood.' 'You sent for him on your own responsibility, unasked. You must take the consequences.' 'I don't know what you mean by the consequences,' said Miss Entwhistle, who was getting further and further away from that beginning of affection for Everard to which she had braced herself. 'The bill,' said Wemyss. 'Oh,' said Miss Entwhistle. She was so much surprised that she could only ejaculate just that. Then the idea that she was in the act of being nourished by Wemyss's soup seemed to her so disagreeable that she put down her spoon. 'Certainly if you wish it,' she said. 'I do,' said Wemyss. The conversation flagged. Presently, sitting up very straight, refusing to take any notice of the variety and speed of the thoughts rushing round inside her and determined to behave as if she weren't minding anything, she said in a very clear little voice which she strove to make sound pleasant, 'Did you have a good journey down?' 'No,' said Wemyss, waving the soup away. This as an answer, though no doubt strictly truthful, was too bald for much to be done with it. Miss Entwhistle therefore merely echoed, as she herself felt foolishly, 'No?' And Wemyss confirmed his first reply by once more saying, 'No.' The conversation flagged. 'I suppose,' she then said, making another effort, 'the train was very full.' As this was not a question he was silent, and allowed her to suppose. The conversation flagged. 'Why is there no fish?' he asked Chesterton, who was offering him cutlets. 'There was no time to get any, sir,' said Chesterton. 'He might have known that,' thought Miss Entwhistle. 'You will tell the cook that I consider I have not dined unless there is fish.' 'Yes sir,' said Chesterton. 'Goose,' thought Miss Entwhistle. It was easier, and far less nerve-racking, to regard him indulgently as a goose than to let oneself get angry. He was like a great cross schoolboy, she thought, sitting there being rude; but unfortunately a schoolboy with power. He ate the cutlets in silence. Miss Entwhistle declined them. She had missed her chance, she thought, when the cab was beneath her window and all she had to do was to lean out and say, 'Wait a minute.' But then Lucy,--ah yes, Lucy. The minute she thought of Lucy she felt she absolutely must be friends with Everard. Incredible as it seemed to her, and always had seemed from the first, that Lucy should love him, there it was,--she did. It couldn't be possible to love him without any reason. Of course not. The child knew. The child was wise and tender. Therefore Miss Entwhistle made another attempt at resuscitating conversation.