ed of my
conversation with Banks on the hill, but the only essential that stuck in
my mind was that suggestion of the "pull," the admittedly unfair advantage
that he might possibly use as a last resource. I was conscious of an
earnest wish that that reserve would not be called upon. I felt,
intuitively, that it would shame both the chauffeur and his master. I had
still less material for any imaginative construction of old Jervaise's
part in the scene now being played; a scene that I could only regard as
being of the greatest moment. Indeed I believed that the conversation then
taking place would reach the climax of the whole episode, and I bitterly
regretted that I had apparently no possible chance of ever learning the
detail of that confrontation of owner and servant. Worse still, I realised
that I might have some difficulty in gathering the upshot. Whether Banks
were accepted or rejected the Jervaises would not confide the story to
their visitors.

I must admit that my curiosity was immensely piqued; though I flatter
myself that my interest was quite legitimate, that it contained no element
of vulgar inquisitiveness. Nevertheless, I did want to know--the outcome,
at least--and I could decide upon no intermediary who would give me just
the information I desired.

Miss Tattersall I ruled out at once. She so persistently vulgarised the
affair. I felt that in her mind she regarded the elopement as subject for
common gossip; also, that she was not free from a form of generalised
jealousy. She did not want Arthur Banks for herself, but she evidently
thought him a rather admirable masculine figure and deplored his
"infatuation" for Brenda. Moreover, I had a notion that I had fallen from
Miss Tattersall's favour. There was something in her expression when she
discovered my deceit in pretending ignorance of the heroic chauffeur that
portrayed a sense of personal injury. No doubt she thought that I had
squeezed her confidence, while I treacherously withheld my own; and she
would certainly regret that confession of having peeped into Brenda's
room, even if she did not guess that I had inferred the final shame of
using the keyhole. Subsequent evidence showed that my only mistake in this
connection was a fatuous underestimation of the lady's sense of injury.

Of the other members of the house-party, Frank Jervaise was the only one
who seemed likely or able to post me in the progress of the affair, and I
felt considerable hesitat