s. Huntley are much as they were. They are still leaning back in
their chairs--still looking with friendly intimacy into each other's
eyes--still smiling. Again a few words of their talk reach me.

"Do you recollect?"

"Do you remember?"

"Have you forgotten?"

Clearly, they have fallen upon old times. I wish--I dearly wish--that I
might bite a piece out of somebody.

CHAPTER XLIII.

"I saw pale kings, and princes, too;
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all,
They cried, 'La Belle Dame, sans merci,'
Hath thee in thrall."

The long penance of dinner is over at last, thank God! I may intermit my
hopeless roarings, melancholy as those of any caged zoological beast.
Roger and Zephine must also fain suspend their reminiscences. There
being no lady of the house, I have taken upon myself to hasten the date
of our departure. Before Mrs. Zephine has finished her last grape, I
have swept her incontinently away into the drawing-room. But I might as
well have let it alone: almost before you could say "Knife" they are
after us. I suppose that when three are eager to come, and only two
anxious to stay--(I acquit my old friend and his nephew of any
over-hurry to rejoin us)--the three must needs get their way. Anyhow,
here they all five are! I am so hot! so hot! Nothing heats one like
bellowing and being miserable and a failure. I have again taken
advantage of the mistressless condition of the establishment, have drawn
back the window-curtains, and lifted the heavy sash. The night always
soothes me. There is something so stilling in the far placidity of the
high stars--in the sweet sharpness of the night winds. I have sat down
on a couch in the embrasure, alone.

When the men come in, I remain alone. It does not at all surprise or
much vex me. I have nothing pleasant to say to any one. Also, I think I
must be almost hidden by the droop of the curtains. Roger, indeed, sent
his eyes round the room on his first entry, as if searching for
something or somebody. It cannot be Mrs. Huntley, who is right under his
nose, and who is, indeed, saying something playful to him over the top
of her black fan. For once, he does not hear her. He is still looking.
Then he catches a glimpse of my skirts, and comes straight toward me.
Thank God! it _was_ me he was looking for. I feel a little throb of
disused gladness, as I realize this.

"Are not you cold?" he says, perceiving the open window.

"Not I!" reply I,