ers, and Charlie with her. Directly they
were alone, he asked:

"What does it all mean?"

She sat down, still panting with agitation.

"Why--why, that man we saw--the man Mr. Laing says is on his honeymoon,
is--is----"

"Yes, yes?"

"Mr. Ashforth!"

"Dolly! And his wife! By Jove! It's an exact description of Mary
Travers!"

"The telegrams were to say the marriage was to be at once."

"Yes, and--they're married!"

"Yes!"

A short pause marked the astounding conclusion. Then Charlie came up
very close and whispered:

"Are you broken-hearted, Dolly?"

She turned her face away with a blush.

"Are you, Dolly?"

"I'm very much ashamed of myself," she murmured. "Oh, Mr. Ellerton, not
just yet!" and in deference to her entreaty Charlie had the grace to
postpone what he was about to do.

When the supper was ready Sir Roger Deane looked round the table
inquiringly.

"Well," said he, "what is it to be?"

"Champagne--champagne in magnums!" cried Charlie Ellerton, with a
ringing laugh.

CHAPTER IX

MR. AND MRS. ASHFORTH (2)

Miss Bussey was much relieved when the doctor pronounced her
convalescent and allowed her to come downstairs. To fall ill on an
outing is always exasperating, but beyond that she felt that her
enforced seclusion was particularly unfortunate at the moment. Here
were two young people, not engaged nor going to be engaged to one
another; and for three days or more circumstances had abandoned them to
an inevitable and unchaperoned tete-a-tete! Mary made light of it; she
relied on the fraternal relationship, but that was, after all, a
fiction, quite incapable, in Miss Bussey's opinion, of supporting the
strain to which It had been subjected. Besides Mary's sincerity
appeared doubtful; the kind girl, anxious to spare her aunt worry, made
light of the difficulties of her position, but Miss Bussey detected a
restlessness in her manner which clearly betrayed uneasiness. Here, of
course, Miss Bussey was wrong; neither Mary nor John were the least
self-conscious; they felt no embarrassment, but, poor creatures, wore
out their spirits in a useless vigil over the letter-rack.

Miss Bussey was restored to active life on the morning after the party
from Cannes arrived in Paris, and she hastened to emphasize the fact of
her return to complete health by the unusual effort of coming down to
breakfast. She was in high feather, and her cheery conversation lifted,
to some extent, the gloom which