"I think you might show more interest. I have been very much startled and annoyed.... But I must tell you later. There's no time now." "I think," says his lordship deferentially, "that, having mentioned it, it might be better to ..." "I suppose you mean I oughtn't to have mentioned it.... Starfield, I cannot possible wear that thick dress to-night. It's suffocating. Get something thinner.... Oh, well--if I must tell you I must tell you! Go back in your room a minute while Starfield finds that dress.... Oh no--_she's_ not listening ... never mind _her_! There, the door's shut!" "Well--what _is_ it?" "It's Gwen. However, I dare say it's only a flash in the pan, and she'll be off after somebody else. If only my advice had been taken he never would have come into the house...." "But who _is_ he, and what is _it_?" "My dear, I'll tell you if you'll not be so impatient. It's this young Torrens.... Yes--now you're shocked. So was I." For no further explanations are necessary. When one hears that "it" is John and Jane, one knows. "But, Philippa, are you sure? It seems to me perfectly incredible." "Speak to her yourself." "She's barely seen him; and as for him, poor fellow, he has never seen _her_ at all." The rapidity of events seems out of all reason to a constitutionally cautious Earl. "My dear, how unreasonable you are! If he could _see_ her, of course, she wouldn't think of him for one moment. At least, I suppose not." "I _cannot_ understand," says the bewildered Earl. And then he begins repeating her ladyship's words "If--he--could ..." as though inviting a more intelligible repetition. This is exasperating--a clear insinuation of unintelligibility. "Oh dear, how slow men are!" The lady passes through a short phase of collapse from despair over man's faculties, then returns to a difficult task crisply and incisively. "Well, at any rate, you can see _this_? The girl's got it into her head that the accident was _our_ fault, and that it's _her_ duty to make it up to him." "But, then, she's not really in love with him, if it's a self-denying ordinance." The Countess is getting used to despair, so she only shrugs a submissive shoulder and remarks with forbearance:--"It is _no_ use trying to make you understand. Of course, it's _because_ she is in love with him that she is going in for ... what did you call it?..." "A self-denying ordinance." "_I_ call it heroics. If she wasn't in love with him, do you suppose she would want to fling herself away?" "Then it isn't a self-denying ordinance at all. I confess I _don't_ understand. I must talk to Gwen herself." "Oh, talk to her by all means. But don't expect to make any impression on her. I know what she is when she gets the bit in her teeth. Certainly talk to her. I really must go and dress now...." "Stop one minute, Philippa...." "Well--what?"