let his eyes roam over the little
tables occupied by parties of diners, and remarked that his wife did for
a moment think of coming down with him, but that he was glad she didn't
do so. "She wouldn't have been at all happy seeing all this alcohol
about. Not at all happy," he declared weightily.

"You must have had a charming evening," I said to Fyne, "if I may judge
from the way you have kept the memory green."

"Delightful," he growled with, positively, a flash of anger at the
recollection, but lapsed back into his solemnity at once. After we had
been silent for a while I asked whether the man took away the girl next
day.

Fyne said that he did; in the afternoon, in a fly, with a few clothes
the maid had got together and brought across from the big house. He
only saw Flora again ten minutes before they left for the railway
station, in the Fynes' sitting-room at the hotel. It was a most painful
ten minutes for the Fynes. The respectable citizen addressed Miss de
Barral as "Florrie" and "my dear," remarking to her that she was not
very big "there's not much of you my dear," in a familiarly disparaging
tone. Then turning to Mrs Fyne, and quite loud, "She's very white in
the face. Why's that?" To this Mrs Fyne made no reply. She had put
the girl's hair up that morning with her own hands. It changed her very
much, observed Fyne. He, naturally, played a subordinate, merely
approving part. All he could do for Miss de Barral personally was to go
downstairs and put her into the fly himself, while Miss de Barral's
nearest relation, having been shouldered out of the way, stood by, with
an umbrella and a little black bag, watching this proceeding with grim
amusement, as it seemed. It was difficult to guess what the girl
thought or what she felt. She no longer looked a child. She whispered
to Fyne a faint "Thank you," from the fly, and he said to her in very
distinct tones and while still holding her hand: "Pray don't forget to
write fully to my wife in a day or two, Miss de Barral." Then Fyne
stepped back and the cousin climbed into the fly muttering quite
audibly: "I don't think you'll be troubled much with her in the future;"
without however looking at Fyne on whom he did not even bestow a nod.
The fly drove away.

PART ONE, CHAPTER 5.

THE TEA-PARTY.

"Amiable personality," I observed seeing Fyne on the point of falling
into a brown study. But I could not help adding with meaning: "He
hadn't the gi