was
very small. He came to lunch with Madre. By the way, Claude, did you
take Madre's cablegram with you when you went to answer your call?"

"Yes."

"I thought you had, because I couldn't find it. Well Mr. Whistler came
to lunch with us, Alston. And he talked about nothing but oysters."

"Was he painting them at the time? A nocturne of natives?"

"How absurd you are! But he knew everything that could be known about
Blue Points--"

She ran on vivaciously. Alston seconded her, when she gave him an
opportunity. Claude listened, sometimes smiled, spoke when there seemed
to be any necessity for a word from him. Alston was hungry after his
exertions, and ate heartily. Charmian pretended to eat and sipped her
champagne. On each of her cheeks an almost livid spot of red glowed. Her
eyes, which looked more sunken than usual in her head, were full of
intense life, as they glanced perpetually from one man to the other with
a ceaseless watchfulness. She pressed Claude to eat, even helped him
herself from the dishes. The clock had just struck a quarter-past one
when a buzzing sound outside indicated the presence of someone at the
door of the lobby.

Charmian moved uneasily.

"Who can it be so late? Perhaps it's Mr. Crayford."

She got up.

"I'll go and see what it is," said Claude.

He went out. Charmian stood, watching the door.

"D'you think it's Mr. Crayford?" she asked of Alston Lake.

"Hardly!"

"What is it, Claude?"

"A note or letter."

"A letter! Whom can it be from! Has it only come now?"

"Apparently."

"Do read it. But have you finished?"

"Quite. I couldn't eat anything more."

He went to the sofa, behind which, on a table, an electric light was
burning, sat down and tore the envelope which he held. Charmian and
Alston remained at the supper-table. Charmian had sat down again. She
gazed at Claude, and saw him draw out of the envelope not a note, but a
letter. He began to read it, and read it slowly. And as he did so
Charmian saw his face change. Once or twice his jaw quivered. His brows
came down. He turned sideways on the sofa. Very soon she saw that he was
with difficulty controlling some strong emotion. She began to talk to
Alston Lake and turned her eyes away from her husband. But presently she
heard the rustle of paper and looked again. Claude, with a hand which
slightly trembled, was putting the letter back into its envelope. When
he had done so he put both into the breast-pocket of his