s and all. He seated himself heavily. His eyes wandered heavily to
the other side of the room, following Majendie. And as they rested on his
friend there was a light in them that redeemed their heaviness.

He had come to Mrs. Majendie prepared for weighty utterance.

"That man," said Hannay, "is the best man I know. You've married, dear
lady, my dearest and most intimate friend. He's a saint--a Bayard." He
flung the name at her defiantly, and with a gesture he emphasised the
crescendo of his thought. "A _preux chevalier, sans peur_" said Mr.
Hannay, "_et sans reproche_."

Having delivered his soul, he sat, still heavily, in silence.

Anne repressed the rising of her indignation. To her it was as if he had
been defending her husband against some accusation brought by his wife.

And so, indeed, he was. Poor Hannay had been conscious of her
attitude--conscious under her pure and austere eyes, of his own
shortcomings, and it struck him that Majendie needed some defence against
her judgment of his taste in friendship.

When the door closed behind the Majendies, Mr. Gorst was left the last
lingering guest.

"Poor Wallie," said Mrs. Hannay.

"_Poor_ Wallie," said Mr. Hannay, and sighed.

"What do you think of her?" said the lady to Mr. Gorst.

"Oh, I think she's magnificent."

"Do you think he'll be able to live up to it?"

"Why not?" said Mr. Gorst cheerfully.

"Well, it wasn't very gay for him before he married, and I don't imagine
it's going to be any gayer now."

"_Now_" said Mr. Hannay, "I understand what's meant by the solemnisation
of holy matrimony. That woman would solemnise a farce at the Vaudeville,
with Gwen Richards on."

"She very nearly solemnised my dinner," said Mrs. Hannay.

"She doesn't know," said Mr. Hannay, "what a dinner is. She's got no
appetite herself, and she tried to take mine away from me. A regular
dog-in-the-manger of a woman."

"Oh, come, you know," said Gorst. "She can't be as bad as all that.
Edith's awfully fond of her."

"And _that's_ good enough for you?" said Mrs. Hannay.

"Yes. That's good enough for me. _I_ like her," said Gorst stoutly; and
Mrs. Hannay hid in her pocket-handkerchief a face quivering with mirth.

But Gorst, as he departed, turned on the doorstep and repeated,
"Honestly, I like her."

"Well, honestly," said Mr. Hannay, "I don't." And, lost in gloomy
forebodings for his friend, he sought consolation in whiskey and soda.

Mrs. Hannay took a seat b