Sir Coupland Merridew's place at table was still empty when the first storm of comparison of notes set in over the events and deeds of the morning. A conscious reservation was in the air about the disaster of last night, causing talk to run on every other subject, but betrayed by more interest in the door and its openings than lunch generally shows. Presently it would open for the overdue guest, and he would have news worth hearing, said Hope. For stinted versions of event had leaked out, and had outlived the reservations and corrections of those who knew. Lunch was conscious of Sir Coupland's arrival in the house before he entered, and its factors nodded to each other and said: "That's him!" Nice customs of Grammar bow before big mouthfuls. However, Miss Smith-Dickenson did certainly say: "I believe that _is_ Sir Coupland." It was, and in his face was secret content and reserve. In response to a volley of What?--Well?--Tell us!--and so forth, he only said:--"Shan't tell you anything till I've had something to eat!" But he glanced across at Lady Gwen and nodded slightly--a nod for her exclusive use. Lunch, liberated by what amounted to certainty that the man was not killed, ran riot; almost all its factors taking a little more, thank you! It was brought up on its haunches by being suddenly made aware that Sir Coupland--having had something to eat--had spoken. He had to repeat his words to reach the far end of the long table. "Yes--I said ... only of course if you make such a row you can't hear.... I said that this gentleman cannot be said to have recovered consciousness"--here he paused for a mistaken exclamation of disappointment to get nipped in the bud, and then continued--"yet a while. However, I am glad to say I--both of us, Dr. Nash and myself, I should say--were completely mistaken about the case. It has turned out contrary to every expectation that...." Nobody noticed that a pause here was due to Lady Gwen having made "No!" with her lips, and looked a protest at the speaker. He went on:--"Well ... in short ... I would have sworn the man was dead ... and he isn't! That's all I have to say about it at present. It might be over-sanguine to say he is alive--meaning that he will succeed in keeping so--but he is certainly not _dead_." Miss Dickenson lodged her claim to a mild form of omniscience by saying with presence of mind:--"Exactly!" but without presumption, so that only her near neighbours heard her. Self-respect called for no more.