and carried it into the hall of the Lodge. He then perceived that two
grinning and evidently inquisitive footmen, waiting in the hall for
anything that might turn up for them to do, had been watching the whole
scene--the arrival of the taxi, and the meeting between the unknown lady
and himself, through a side window.

Burning to box someone's ears, Meadows loftily gave the bag to one of
them with instructions that it should be taken to his room, and then
turned to rejoin his wife.

As he crossed the gravel in front of the house, his mind ran through all
possible hypotheses. But he was entirely without a clue--except the clue
of jealousy. He could not hide from himself that Doris had been jealous
of Lady Dunstable, and had perhaps been hurt by his rather too numerous
incursions into the great world without her, his apparent readiness to
desert her for cleverer women. "Little goose!--as if I ever cared
twopence for any of them!"--he thought angrily. "And now she makes us
both laughing-stocks!"

And yet, Doris being Doris--a proud, self-contained, well-bred little
person, particularly sensitive to ridicule--the whole proceeding became
the more incredible the more he faced it.

One o'clock!--striking from the church tower in the valley! He hurried
towards the slight figure on the distant seat. Lady Dunstable might
return at any moment. He foresaw the encounter--the great lady's
insolence--Doris's humiliation--and his own. Well, at least let him
agree with Doris on a common story, before his hostess arrived.

He sped across the grass, very conscious, as he approached the seat, of