In the dining-room the governess in her place, a newspaper half-concealed

under the cloth on her lap, after a few words exchanged with lips that

seemed hardly to move, remaining motionless, her eyes fixed before her in

an enduring silence; and presently Charley coming in to whom she did not

even give a glance. He hardly said good morning, though he had a half-

hearted try to smile at the girl, and sitting opposite her with his eyes

on his plate and slight quivers passing along the line of his

clean-shaven jaw, he too had nothing to say. It was dull, horribly dull

to begin one's day like this; but she knew what it was. These

never-ending family affairs! It was not for the first time that she had

suffered from their depressing after-effects on these two. It was a

shame that the delightful Charley should be made dull by these stupid

talks, and it was perfectly stupid of him to let himself be upset like

this by his aunt.

When after a period of still, as if calculating, immobility, her

governess got up abruptly and went out with the paper in her hand, almost

immediately afterwards followed by Charley who left his breakfast half

eaten, the girl was positively relieved. They would have it out that

morning whatever it was, and be themselves again in the afternoon. At

least Charley would be. To the moods of her governess she did not attach

so much importance.

For the first time that morning the Fynes saw the front door of the awful

house open and the objectionable young man issue forth, his rascality

visible to their prejudiced eyes in his very bowler hat and in the smart

cut of his short fawn overcoat. He walked away rapidly like a man

hurrying to catch a train, glancing from side to side as though he were

carrying something off. Could he be departing for good? Undoubtedly,

undoubtedly! But Mrs. Fyne's fervent "thank goodness" turned out to be a

bit, as the Americans--some Americans--say "previous." In a very short

time the odious fellow appeared again, strolling, absolutely strolling

back, his hat now tilted a little on one side, with an air of leisure and

satisfaction. Mrs. Fyne groaned not only in the spirit, at this sight,

but in the flesh, audibly; and asked her husband what it might mean. Fyne

naturally couldn't say. Mrs. Fyne believed that there was something

horrid in progress and meantime the object of her detestation had gone up

the steps and had knocked at the door which at once opened to admit him.

He had been only as far as the bank.




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