because it was evident they would have been angry with him. Everett's
theory was that one of them had dreamt it--probably Camelford--and by
hypnotic suggestion had conveyed to the rest of them the impression
that they had dreamt it also. He added that but for one slight
incident he should have ridiculed from the very beginning the argument
that it could have been anything else than a dream. But what that
incident was he would not tell me. His object, as he explained, was
not to dwell upon the business, but to try and forget it. Speaking as
a friend, he advised me, likewise, not to cackle about the matter any
more than I could help, lest trouble should arise with regard to my
director's fees. His way of putting things is occasionally blunt.

It was at the Everetts', later on, that I met Mrs. Camelford, one of
the handsomest women I have ever set eyes upon. It was foolish of me,
but my memory for names is weak. I forgot that Mr. and Mrs. Camelford
were the other two concerned, and mentioned the story as a curious
tale I had read years ago in an old Miscellany. I had reckoned on it
to lead me into a discussion with her on platonic friendship. She
jumped up from her chair and gave me a look. I remembered then, and
could have bitten out my tongue. It took me a long while to make my
peace, but she came round in the end, consenting to attribute my
blunder to mere stupidity. She was quite convinced herself, she told
me, that the thing was pure imagination. It was only when in company
with the others that any doubt as to this crossed her mind. Her own
idea was that, if everybody would agree never to mention the matter
again, it would end in their forgetting it. She supposed it was her
husband who had been my informant: he was just that sort of ass. She
did not say it unkindly. She said when she was first married, ten
years ago, few people had a more irritating effect upon her than had
Camelford; but that since she had seen more of other men she had come