He was very unwilling to risk the loss of Mr. Quincunx’s society. There was no one in Nevilton to whom he could discourse quite as freely and philosophically as he could to the conscripted office-clerk, and his American interest in a “representative type” found inexhaustible satisfaction in listening to the cynical murmurings of this eccentric being. Lacrima was calm and self-contained, but she ate hardly anything; and the hand with which she raised her glass to her lips trembled in spite of all her efforts. Gladys herself was exuberant with suppressed excitement. Every now and then she glanced furtively at the window, and at other times, when there was no reason for such an outburst, she gave vent to a low feline laugh. She was of the type of animal that the approach of thunder, and the presence of electricity in the air, fills with magnetic nervous exaltation. The meal was over at last, and the various persons of the group hastened to separate, each of them weighed upon, as if by an atmospheric hand, with the burden of their own purposes and apprehensions. The two girls retired to their rooms. Mrs. Romer retreated to her favourite corner in the entrance hall, and then, uneasy even here, took refuge in the assuaging society of her friend the housekeeper. Romer himself marched away gloomily to his study; and Dangelis, snatching up his coat and hat, made off across the south garden. It did not take the American long to reach the low hedge which separated Mr. Quincunx’s garden from the lane. The recluse was awaiting him, and joined him at once at the gate, giving him no invitation to enter, and taking for granted that their conversation was to be a pedestrian one. Mr. Quincunx experienced a curious reluctance to allow any of his friends to cross his threshold. The only one completely privileged in this matter was young Luke Andersen, whose gay urbanity was so insidious that it would have overcome the resistance of a Trappist monk. “Well, where are you proposing to take me tonight?” enquired Dangelis, when they had advanced in silence some distance up the hill. “To a place that will interest you, if your damned artistic tastes haven’t quite spoiled your pleasure in little things!” “Not to the Seven Ashes again?” protested the American. “I know this lane leads up there.” “You wait a little. We shall turn off presently,” muttered his companion. “The truth is I am taking you on a sort of scouting expedition tonight.” “What on earth do you mean?” “Well--if you must know, you shall know! I saw Miss Traffio yesterday and she asked me to keep an eye on Auber Lake tonight.” “What? That place they were talking of? Where the wild-geese are?”