Tarrant did care--if Mr. Straker did.

Furnival had got down from his seat beside Brocklebank and had
opened the door of the car, ignoring Straker. He had managed in his
descent to preserve his attitude of distance, so much so that
Straker was amazed to see him enter the car after Miss Tarrant and
take his, Straker's, place beside her. He accomplished this maneuver
in silence, and with an air so withdrawn, so obscurely predestined,
that he seemed innocent of all offense. It was as if he had acted
from some malign compulsion of which he was unaware.

Now Brocklebank in his motor was an earnest and a silent man.
Straker, left to himself, caught fragments of conversation in the
rear. Miss Tarrant began it.

"Why did you give up your seat?"

"You see why," said Furnival.

Straker could see him saying it, flushed and fervent. Then Furnival
went one better, and overdid it.

"There's nothing I wouldn't give up for a chance like this."

Straker heard Philippa laughing softly. He knew she meant him to
hear her, he knew she was saying to him, "Could anything be more
absurd than the creature that I've got in here?"

There was a pause, and then Furnival broke out again:

"I've seen Mrs. Viveash off."

"That," said Miss Tarrant reprovingly, "was the least you could
do."

Furnival made that little fierce, inarticulate sound of his before
he spoke. "I hope you're satisfied. I hope I've done enough to
please you."

"Oh, quite enough. I shouldn't attempt to do _anything_ more if I
were you."

After that there was silence, in which Straker felt that Furnival
was raging.

VII

Fanny Brocklebank came to him the next morning in the library, where
he had hidden himself. She was agitated.

"Put that book down," she said. "I want to talk to you."

Straker obeyed.

"Jimmy--I'm fond of Philippa. I am, really."

"Well--what's up?"

"Philippa's making a fool of herself and she doesn't know it."

"Trust Philippa!"

"To know it?"

"To make a fool of anybody on earth--except herself."

"This is different. It's Larry Furnival."

"It is. And did you ever see such a spectacle of folly?"

"He doesn't understand her. That's where the folly comes in."

"He's not alone in it."

But Fanny was past the consolations of his cynicism. Her face, not
formed for gravity, was grave.

"He's got an idea in his head. An awful one. I'm convinced he thinks
she isn't proper."

"Oh, I say!"

"Well, really--considering that he