* *

Aylmer and his guests had reached the stage of being apparently all
lost in their own thoughts, and the conversation had been practically
reduced to a disjointed monologue on music by Lady Everard, when the
lights began to be lowered, and the party broke up.

'I'm coming to see you so soon,' said Vincy.

CHAPTER XIV

The Letter

It was about a fortnight later.

Edith and Bruce, from different directions, arrived at the same moment
at their door, and went up together in the lift. On the little
hall-table was a letter addressed to Edith. She took it up rather
quickly, and went into the drawing-room. Bruce followed her.

'That a letter, Edith?'

'What do you suppose it is, Bruce?'

'What _could_ I have supposed it was, Edith? A plum pudding?' He
laughed very much.

'You are very humorous today, Bruce.'

She sat down with her hat, veil and gloves on, holding the letter. She
did not go to her room, because that would leave her no further
retreat. Bruce sat down exactly opposite to her, with his coat and
gloves on. He slowly drew off one glove, folded it carefully, and put
it down. Then he said amiably, a little huskily:

'Letter from a friend?'

'I beg your pardon? What did you say, dear?'

He raised his voice unnecessarily:

'I Said A LETTER FROM A FRIEND!'

She started. 'Oh yes! I heard this time.'

'Edith, I know of an excellent aurist in Bond Street. I wish you'd go
and see him. I'll give you the address.'

'I know of a very good elocutionist in Oxford Street. I think I would
go and have some lessons, if I were you, Bruce; the summer classes are
just beginning. They teach you to speak so clearly, to get your voice
over the footlights, as it were. I think all men require to study
oratory and elocution. It comes in so useful!'

Bruce lowered his voice almost to a whisper.

'Are you playing the fool with me?'

She nodded amiably in the manner of a person perfectly deaf, but who is
pretending to hear.

'Yes, dear; yes, quite right.'

'What do you mean by 'quite right'?' He unfastened his coat and threw
it open, glaring at her a little.

'Who--me? _I_ don't know.'

'Who is that letter from, Edith?' he said breezily, in a tone of sudden
careless and cheery interest.

'I haven't read it yet, Bruce,' she answered, in the same tone,
brightly.

'Oh. Why don't you read it?'

'Oh! I shall presently.'

'When?'

'When I've opened it.'

He took off his other glove, folded it