Ancester Towers, but he reconciled a renewal of
his visit there to his conscience by the consideration that an unusually
late Session was predicted. A little more country air would do him no
harm, and the Towers was the best club in the country.

He had had absolutely no motive whatever for going there, outside what
this implies. Unless, indeed, something else was implied by his pledging
his honour to himself that this was the case. Self-deception is an art
that Man gives a great deal of attention to, and Woman nearly as much.

The Countess said to him, on the evening of his reappearance in time to
dress for dinner:--"Everybody's gone, Percy--I mean everybody of your
lot a fortnight ago." Whereto he replied:--"How about the wounded man?"
and her ladyship said:--"Mr. Torrens? Oh yes, Mr. Torrens is here still
and his sister--they'll be here a few days longer.... There's nobody
else. Yes, there's Constance Dickenson. Norbury, tell them to keep
dinner back a little because of Mr. Pellew." This was all in one
sentence, chiefly to the butler. She ended:--"All the rest are new," and
the gentleman departed to dress in ten minutes--long ones probably. This
was two or three evenings before Miss Dickenson saw that glow-worm in
the garden. Perhaps three, because two are needed to account for the
lady's attitude about that cigar, and twelve hours for a coolness
occasioned by her ladyship's saying in her inconsiderate way:--"Oh, you
are quite old friends, you two, of course--I forgot." Only fancy saying
that a single lady and gentleman were "quite old friends"! Both parties
exhibited mature courtesy, enriched with smiles in moderation. But for
all that their relations painfully resembled civility for the rest of
that evening.

However, whatever they were then, they were reinstated by now; that is
to say, by the morning after Gwen's bad night. Eavesdrop, please, and
overhear what you can in the arbutus walk, half-way through the Hon.
Percival's first cigar.

The gentleman is accounting for something he has just said. "What made
me think so was his being so curious about our friend Cumberworld. As
for Gwen, I wouldn't trust her not to be romantic. Girls are."

The lady speaks discreetly:--"Certainly no such construction would have
occurred to me. One has to be on one's guard against romantic ideas.
She might easily be--a--_eprise_, to some extent--as girls are...."

"But spooney, no! Well--perhaps you're right."

"I don't know