Chesney's face; then he thrust out his chin with
that self-conscious, slightly embarrassed smile so familiar to his
wife, and cried: "_Touche, monsieur, touche!_"

It seemed to Sophy that, at the same moment, a very pandemonium of
voices broke out on every side. People seemed saying anything that came
uppermost in their minds. Sophy herself found that she was talking
feverishly to Amaldi of the little boat that he had just sent Bobby, of
how she had wound it up herself and set it going in his bathtub, of how
naturally the little men worked their oars. She talked and
talked--telling him anecdotes of Bobby's funny ways and speeches. Her
deep, sweet laughter rang out clearly. Every one was laughing a little
exaggeratedly over just such trivialities.

And Amaldi took the cue from her. He began to talk lightly, in a vein of
real humour that she had not divined in him. He told her of the dry
drollery of the Milanese. One little story made her laugh out like a
child--quite naturally this time. And so grateful was she to Amaldi for
helping her to a rational screen for her terrible nervousness, that she
began to chatter gaily to him, and kept on and on, not realising that
she was giving him an undue amount of her attention, and that, twice at
least, Tyne had tried in vain to get her to talk with him.

The bell rang for a division in the House. Several men got up and left
the table to vote. Sophy glanced up vaguely a moment as they went out,
then returned to her light chatter with Amaldi.

No one seemed to notice this particularly, or, if they did notice it, it
was probable that they understood only too well the nervous excitement
which led her to keep up this gay rattle as if not daring to pause.

Tyne understood perfectly. If he had twice attempted to break in on her
talk with Amaldi it was only because he saw something very dangerous in
the glances which her husband was beginning to cast at her.

Suddenly Chesney leaned his arms on the table, pushing the glasses to
one side. He thrust forward his face in his wife's direction. It was
livid. Moisture stood on his forehead. His eyes burned black. The people
near him gazed appalled. It was not so much like a face as like a mask
of hatred.

Several times Amaldi, who also had caught glimpses of this face, had
tried to let the conversation drop naturally. Sophy had been talking
steadily with him for at least fifteen minutes. But it was as if she
were afraid to stop for a mome