It was astonishing how this really rather good joke fell flat. Of course the twins did not see it. But Mrs. Vernon herself did not see it, and I too thought it, at the moment, inexpressibly feeble. As for the twins they could not hide their disappointment. Always before, I had handed them a little parcel, immediately, either at the station if they came to meet me, or at the house-door, if they did not. And to-day I had no little parcel. I could perceive that they were hoping against hope, even yet. I could perceive that they were saying to each other with their large, expressive eyes: “Perhaps he has put it in his portmanteau this time. He can’t have forgotten us.” I could have wept for them. (I was in that state.) But I could not for the life of me tell them outright that I had forgotten the customary gift, and that I should send it by post on my return. No, I could not do that. I was too constrained, too ill at ease. So we all climbed up into the dog-cart. Mrs. Vernon and I in front, and the twins behind with the portmanteau to make weight; and the white mare set off with a bound, and the Dalmatian barked joyously, and we all pretended to be as joyous as the dog. “Where’s Jack?” I inquired. “Oh!” said Mrs. Vernon, as though I had startled her. “He had to go to Bedbury Sands to look at a couple of greyhounds--it would have been too late on Monday. I’m afraid he won’t be back for tea.” I guessed instantly that, with the average man’s cowardice, he had run away in order to escape meeting me as I entered the house. He had left that to his wife. No doubt he hoped that by the time he returned I should have settled down and the first awkwardness and constraint would be past. We said scarcely anything else, Mrs. Vernon and I, during the three-mile drive. And it was in silence that we crossed the portal of the house. Instead of having tea in the orchard we had it in the drawing-room, the twins being present. And the tea might have been a funeral feast. “Well,” I thought, “I anticipated a certain mutual diffidence, but nothing so bad as this. If they couldn’t be brighter than this, why in heaven’s name did they force me to come down?” Mrs. Vernon was decidedly in a pitiable condition. She felt for me so much that I felt for her. “Come along, dears,” she said to the twins, after tea was over, and the tea-things cleared away. And she took the children out of the room. But before leaving she handed me a note, in silence. I opened it and read: “Be as kind to her as you can; she has suffered a great deal.”