ought--"

The friends were still explaining away the little misunderstanding when
Crane came down, and dinner was announced.

Mrs. Falkener, with of course the heartiest wish to criticize, was
forced to admit the food was perfection. The soup so clear and strong,
the fried fish so dry and tender, even the cheese souffle, for which she
had waited most hopefully, turned out to be beautifully light and
fluffy. Having come to curse she was obliged to bless; and her praise
was delightful to Crane.

"Yes, isn't she a wonder?" he kept saying. "Wasn't it great luck to find
any one like that in a place such as this? Tuck, here, keeps trying to
poison my mind against her, but I wouldn't part with a cook like that
even if she were a Messalina."

Mrs. Falkener, who couldn't on the instant remember who Messalina was,
attempted to look as if she thought it would be better not to mention
such people in the presence of her daughter.

"Tuck's an inhuman old creature, isn't he, Mrs. Falkener?" Crane went
on. "I don't believe he ever had a natural impulse in his life, and so
he has no sympathy with the impulses of others."

Tucker smiled quietly. It came to him that just so the iron reserve of
the middle-aged hero was often misinterpreted during the first two acts
by more frivolous members of the cast.

As they rose from table, Miss Falkener said:

"It's such a lovely night. Such a moon. Have you seen it, Mr. Crane?"

"Well, I saw it as we drove over from the station," returned Crane, a
trifle absently. He had become thoughtful as dinner ended.

"Do you think," said Cora, "that it would be too cold to take a turn in
the garden? I should like to see the old box and the cedars by
moonlight."

"Not a bit. Let's go out. I have something to do first, but it won't
take me ten minutes. But," he added, "you must not catch cold and get
laid up, and miss the run to-morrow. I'm going to put you on a new Irish
mare I've just bought." And they found themselves talking not about the
garden, but the stable.

In the midst of it Smithfield came into the drawing-room with the
coffee, and Crane said to him, in a low tone:

"Oh, Smithfield, tell the cook I'll see her now, in the little office
across the hall."

Smithfield looked graver than usual.

"Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but the cook was feeling tired and has gone
up to bed, sir."

Crane was just helping himself to sugar.

"She cooked this coffee, didn't she?" he said.

"Yes, si