was unable to help overhearing the following
scrap of dialogue. Mary Cavendish was saying in the voice of a woman
desperately controlling herself:

"Then you won't show it to me?"

To which Mrs. Inglethorp replied:

"My dear Mary, it has nothing to do with that matter."

"Then show it to me."

"I tell you it is not what you imagine. It does not concern you in the
least."

To which Mary Cavendish replied, with a rising bitterness:

"Of course, I might have known you would shield him."

Cynthia was waiting for me, and greeted me eagerly with:

"I say! There's been the most awful row! I've got it all out of Dorcas."

"What kind of a row?"

"Between Aunt Emily and _him_. I do hope she's found him out at last!"

"Was Dorcas there, then?"

"Of course not. She 'happened to be near the door'. It was a real old
bust-up. I do wish I knew what it was all about."

I thought of Mrs. Raikes's gipsy face, and Evelyn Howard's warnings, but
wisely decided to hold my peace, whilst Cynthia exhausted every possible
hypothesis, and cheerfully hoped, "Aunt Emily will send him away, and
will never speak to him again."

I was anxious to get hold of John, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Evidently something very momentous had occurred that afternoon. I tried
to forget the few words I had overheard; but, do what I would, I could
not dismiss them altogether from my mind. What was Mary Cavendish's
concern in the matter?

Mr. Inglethorp was in the drawing-room when I came down to supper. His
face was impassive as ever, and the strange unreality of the man struck
me afresh.

Mrs. Inglethorp came down last. She still looked agitated, and during
the meal there was a somewhat constrained silence. Inglethorp was
unusually quiet. As a rule, he surrounded his wife with little
attentions, placing a cushion at her back, and altogether playing the
part of the devoted husband. Immediately after supper, Mrs. Inglethorp
retired to her boudoir again.

"Send my coffee in here, Mary," she called. "I've just five minutes to
catch the post."

Cynthia and I went and sat by the open window in the drawing-room. Mary
Cavendish brought our coffee to us. She seemed excited.

"Do you young people want lights, or do you enjoy the twilight?" she
asked. "Will you take Mrs. Inglethorp her coffee, Cynthia? I will pour
it out."

"Do not trouble, Mary," said Inglethorp. "I will take it to Emily." He
poured it out, and went out of the room carrying it car