She and her lover
obviously went off in the motor together at twelve o'clock. They are
probably in London, by now."

I did not give her confidence for confidence. I had practically promised
Banks not to say that I had seen him on Jervaise Clump at five o'clock
that morning, and I was not the least tempted to reveal that important
fact to Miss Tattersall. I diverted the angle of our talk a trifle, at the
same time allowing my companion to assume that I agreed with her
conclusion.

"Do you know," I said, "that the person I'm most sorry for in this affair
is Mr. Jervaise. He seems absolutely broken by it."

Miss Tattersall nodded sympathetically. "Yes, isn't it dreadful?" she
said. "At breakfast this morning I was thinking how perfectly detestable
it was of Brenda to do a thing like that."

"Or of Banks?" I added.

"Oh! it wasn't his fault," Miss Tattersall said spitefully. "He was just
infatuated, poor fool. She could do anything she liked with him."

I reflected that Olive Jervaise and Nora Bailey would probably have
expressed a precisely similar opinion.

"I suppose he's a weak sort of chap?" I said.

"No. It isn't that," Miss Tattersall replied. "He doesn't look weak--not
at all. No! he is just infatuated--for the time being."

We had been pacing up and down the lawn, parallel to the front of the
house and perhaps fifty yards away from it--a safe distance for
maintaining the privacy of our conversation. And as we came to the turn of
our walk nearest to the drive, I looked back towards the avenue that
intervened between us and the swelling contours of Jervaise Clump. I was
thinking about my expedition towards the sunrise; and I was taken
completely off my guard when I saw a tweed-clad figure emerge from under
the elms and make its way with a steady determination up the drive.

"Well, one of them isn't in London, anyway," I said.

"Why? Who?" she returned, staring, and I realised that she was too
short-sighted to make out the identity of the advancing figure from that
distance.

"Who is it?" she repeated with a hint of testiness.

I had seen by then that I had inadvertently given myself away, and I had
not the wit to escape from the dilemma.

"I don't know," I said, hopelessly embarrassed. "It--it just struck me
that this might be Banks."

He had come nearer to us now, near enough for Miss Tattersall to recognise
him; and her amazement was certainly greater than mine.

"But you're right," she said wit