The Countess said to him, on the evening of his reappearance in time to dress for dinner:--"Everybody's gone, Percy--I mean everybody of your lot a fortnight ago." Whereto he replied:--"How about the wounded man?" and her ladyship said:--"Mr. Torrens? Oh yes, Mr. Torrens is here still and his sister--they'll be here a few days longer.... There's nobody else. Yes, there's Constance Dickenson. Norbury, tell them to keep dinner back a little because of Mr. Pellew." This was all in one sentence, chiefly to the butler. She ended:--"All the rest are new," and the gentleman departed to dress in ten minutes--long ones probably. This was two or three evenings before Miss Dickenson saw that glow-worm in the garden. Perhaps three, because two are needed to account for the lady's attitude about that cigar, and twelve hours for a coolness occasioned by her ladyship's saying in her inconsiderate way:--"Oh, you are quite old friends, you two, of course--I forgot." Only fancy saying that a single lady and gentleman were "quite old friends"! Both parties exhibited mature courtesy, enriched with smiles in moderation. But for all that their relations painfully resembled civility for the rest of that evening. However, whatever they were then, they were reinstated by now; that is to say, by the morning after Gwen's bad night. Eavesdrop, please, and overhear what you can in the arbutus walk, half-way through the Hon. Percival's first cigar. The gentleman is accounting for something he has just said. "What made me think so was his being so curious about our friend Cumberworld. As for Gwen, I wouldn't trust her not to be romantic. Girls are." The lady speaks discreetly:--"Certainly no such construction would have occurred to me. One has to be on one's guard against romantic ideas. She might easily be--a--_eprise_, to some extent--as girls are...." "But spooney, no! Well--perhaps you're right." "I don't know whether I ought to say even that. I shouldn't, only to you. Because I know I can rely on your discretion...." "Rather. Only you must admit that when she appeared this morning--and last night--she was looking ..." "Looking what?" "Well ... rather too statuesque for jollity." "Perhaps the heat. I know she complains of the heat; it gives her a headache." "Come, Miss Dickenson, that's not fair. You know it was what _you_ said began it." "Began what?" "Madam, what I am saying arises naturally from ..." "There!--do stop being Parliamentary and be reasonable. What you mean is--have those two fallen head over ears in love, or haven't they?" Discussions of this subject of Love are greatly lubricated by exaggeration of style. It is almost as good as a foreign tongue. She continued more seriously:--"Tell me a little more of what Mr. Torrens said."