dden emphasis,
says:--"But we are so glad that it _should_ be so, Gwen darling." And
then, when the girl stops in her walk and says:--"Of course you are--but
why not?" she has a half-smile as for petulance forgiven, as she
says:--"Because you fired up so about it, darling; that's all. We did
not understand that you had hold of the hand. Was it stiff?" This in a
semi-whisper of protest against the horror of the subject.

"Not the least. Cold!--oh, how cold!" She shudders of set purpose to
show how cold. "But not _stiff_."

The two other ladies go into a partnership of seniority, glancing at
each other; and each contributes to a duet about the duty of being
hopeful, and we shall soon know, and at any rate, the case could not be
in better hands, and so on. But whereas the elder lady was only working
for reassurance--puzzled somewhat at a certain flushed emphasis in this
beautiful daughter of hers--Miss Smith-Dickenson was taking mental
notes, and looking intuitive. She was still looking intuitive when she
joined the numerous party at lunch, an hour later. She had more than one
inquiry addressed to her about "this unfortunate accident," but she
reserved her information, with mystery, acquiring thereby a more defined
importance. A river behind a _barrage_ is much more impressive than a
pump.

* * * * *

Sir Coupland Merridew's place at table was still empty when the first
storm of comparison of notes set in over the events and deeds of the
morning. A conscious reservation was in the air about the disaster of
last night, causing talk to run on every other subject, but betrayed by
more interest in the door and its openings than lunch generally shows.
Presently it would open for the overdue guest, and he would have news
worth hearing, said Hope. For stinted versions of event had leaked out,
and had outlived the reservations and corrections of those who knew.

Lunch was conscious of Sir Coupland's arrival in the house before he
entered, and its factors nodded to each other and said: "That's him!"
Nice customs of Grammar bow before big mouthfuls. However, Miss
Smith-Dickenson did certainly say: "I believe that _is_ Sir Coupland."

It was, and in his face was secret content and reserve. In response to a
volley of What?--Well?--Tell us!--and so forth, he only said:--"Shan't
tell you anything till I've had something to eat!" But he glanced across
at Lady Gwen and nodded slightly--a nod for her ex