“I thought I ought to recognize the return of the wanderers in some way--particularly, as I hear we are to lose one of them so soon.” Mrs. Ussher glanced quickly at her cousin. “Are you leaving us, Max?” “I’m sorry to say I’ve just had word that I must, and I told the man to make arrangements for me to get that twelve-something-or-other train.” Mrs. Ussher did not change a muscle. “I’m sorry you have to go,” she said. “We shall all miss you. By the way, you won’t be able to get anything before the four-eighteen. That midday train is taken off in winter. Didn’t the footman tell you? Stupid young man; but he’s new and has not learnt the trains yet, I suppose. Do you want to send a telegram? They have to be telephoned here, but if you write it out I’ll have it sent for you.” “How wonderful you are, Laura,” murmured Mrs. Almar. Mrs. Ussher looked vague. “In what way, dear?” “In all ways, but I think it’s as a friend that I admire you most.” Mrs. Ussher smiled. “Yes,” she said, “I’m very devoted to my friends even when they don’t behave quite fairly to me. But I love my relations, too,” she added. “Max, since I’m to lose you so soon, I’d like to have a talk with you before lunch. Shall we go to my little study?” Nancy’s eyes danced. “No, Laura,” she said, “he will not. He has just promised to teach me a new solitaire, and I won’t yield him to any one.” Riatt, terrified at this proof that Nancy’s prophecy was coming true, resolved to cling to her. “Sit down and learn the game, too, Laura,” he said. “It’s a very good one.” “I want to speak to you about a business matter, Max.” “I never attend to business during church hours, Laura,” he answered. “We’ll talk about it after lunch, if you like.” Laura had learnt the art of yielding gracefully. “That will do just as well,” she said, and sat down to watch the game. Presently Wickham, seeing that Mrs. Almar seemed to be safely engaged, ventured back. And they were all thus innocently occupied when luncheon was announced. Christine came down looking particularly lovely. It is a precaution which a good-looking woman rarely fails to take in a crisis. She was wearing a deep blue dress trimmed with fur, and only needed a solid gold halo behind her head to make her look like a Byzantine saint. “Well, Miss Fenimer,” said Wickham, as they sat down. “You look very blooming after your terrible experiences.” Christine had come prepared for battle. “Oh, they weren’t so very terrible, Mr. Wickham, thank you,” she said, and she leant her elbow on the table and played with those imitation pearls which she now hoped so soon to give to her maid. “Mr. Riatt is the most wonderful provider--expert as a cook as well as a furnace-man.” “It mayn’t have been terrible for you,” put in Ussher, who had a habit of conversational reversion, “but I bet it was no joke in the tool-house! How an intelligent woman like you, Christine, could dream of making a man spend the night in that hole, just for the sake of--”