, and interspersed
with amusing examples of the Personage's unyielding sense of his own
not-to-be-trifled-with dignity. But Loring was very quick at taking
veiled meanings. He himself had feared that he had gone just a bit too
far on that occasion. Now he was sure of it. He gave no sign, but a
mortified resentment smouldered in him. He detested John Arundel. He
would have liked to blurt some rudeness and leave his house on the
instant. This civil, middle-aged Englishman reading him a lesson on
behaviour in the guise of anecdotes that characterised the peculiarities
of the celebrity whom he, Loring, had made too free with, filled him
with fierce indignation. His helpless wrath was trebled by the fact that
John Arundel was in the right, and managing a difficult thing with
consummate good-breeding. He had not been so angry in just such a way
since, when a boy of ten, his youngest uncle had boxed his ears for
speaking impertinently to his grandmother.

Pride kept him from mentioning the matter to Sophy, however. He only
said the next time that he saw her alone that he "guessed he'd had about
enough of the Lemon-groves of England, and would she please get a move
on for 'Home, sweet home.'"

Sophy knew from this speech that John Arundel had uttered the "word"
suggested by Olive. She also knew, from the harsh slang in which Loring
addressed her, that he was deeply incensed. He always used this sort of
language when irritated. But she gave no more sign of her real feeling
to him than he had given of his to Arundel. What was the use? She was
only too glad, too relieved, to be returning to America at short notice.
England seemed strange and distorted to her, viewed through the mental
atmosphere in which she now moved, like a familiar landscape changed by
the alchemy of an evil dream.

* * * * *

Sophy found a letter from Mrs. Loring awaiting her in New York. The poor
lady was at Nahant suffering from an acute attack of arthritis, with a
trained nurse in attendance.

As always, Loring was very restless and ill-at-ease in the presence of
sickness. He darted gingerly in and out of the sick-room twice a day,
like a nervous terrier investigating a thorny hedge-row. Mrs. Loring was
sweetly grateful for these flitting visits.

"Morry is always so dear and unselfish about telling me good morning and
good night when I am ill!" she said to Sophy. "He has always had a
horror of illness since his earlies