what it is. Think of that
unspeakable book. Left open on the table! Look at his Ferguson game.
It's our solemn duty to keep him for good and all out of mischief. It
reflects all round. There's no getting out of it; we're all in it. And
tar sticks. And then there's poor little Alice to consider, and--and
you yourself, Mrs. Lawford: I wouldn't give the fellow--friend though
he was, in a way--it isn't safe to give him five minutes' freedom.
We've simply got to save you from yourself, Mrs Lawford; that's what it
is--and from old-fashioned sentiment. And I only wish Bethany was here
now to dispute it!'

He stirred himself down, as it were, into his clothes, and stood in the
middle of the hearthrug, gently oscillating, with his hands behind
his back. But at some faint rumour out of the silent house his posture
suddenly stiffened, and he lifted a little, with heavy, steady lids, his
head.

'What is the matter, Danton?' said Mr Craik in a small voice; 'why are
you listening?'

'I wasn't listening,' said Danton stoutly, 'I was thinking.'

At the same moment, at the creak of a footstep on the kitchen stairs,
Lawford also had drawn soundlessly back into the darkness of the empty
drawing-room.

'While Mr Danton is "thinking," Sheila,' Mrs Lovat was softly
interposing, 'do please listen a moment to me. Do you mean really that
that Frenchman--the one you've pocketed--is the poor creature in the
grave?'

'Yes, Mrs Lawford,' said Mr Craik, putting out his face a little, 'are
we to take it that you mean that?'

'It's the same date, dear, the same name even to the spelling; what
possibly else can I think?'

'And that the poor creature in the grave actually climbed up out of the
darkness and--well, what?'

'I know no more than you do NOW, Bettie. But the two faces--you must
remember you haven't seen my husband SINCE.' You must remember you
haven't heard the peculiar--the most peculiar things he--Arthur
himself--has said to me. Things such as a wife... And not in jest,
Bettie; I assure you....'

'And Mr Bethany?' interpolated Mr Craik modestly, feeling his way.

'Pah, Bethany, Craik! He'd back Old Nick himself if he came with a good
tale. We've got to act; we've got to settle his hash before he does any
mischief.'

'Well,' began Mrs Lovat, smiling a little remorsefully beneath the arch
of her raised eyebrows, 'I sincerely hope you'll all forgive me; but I
really am, heart and soul, with Old Nick, as Mr Danton seems on inti