His expression was half angry, half concerned, for he saw plainly that
she was tired and jaded. Of course! Long journeys always knocked her up.
She meanwhile stood looking at him as though trying to read the
impression produced on him by her escapade. Something evidently in his
manner hurt her, for she withdrew her hand, and her face stiffened.

"There is nothing wrong with me, thank you! Of course I did not come
without good reason."

"But, my dear, are you come to stay?" cried Meadows, looking helplessly
at the taxi. "And you never wrote to Lady Dunstable?"

For he could only imagine that Doris had reconsidered her refusal of the
invitation which had originally included them both, and--either tired
of being left alone, or angry with him for not writing--had devised this
_coup de main_, this violent shake to the kaleidoscope. But what an
extraordinary step! It could only cover them both with ridicule. His
cheeks were already burning.

Doris surveyed him very quietly.

"No--I didn't write to Lady Dunstable--I wrote to _you_--and sent her a
message. I suppose--I shall have to stay the night."

"But what on earth are we to say to her?" cried Meadows in desperation.
"They're out walking now--but she'll be back directly. There isn't a
corner in the house! I've got a little bachelor room in the attics.
Really, Doris, if you were going to do this, you should have given both
her and me notice! There is a crowd of people here!"