"It's not that--at least that's not what I have come about," he
answered confusedly.

"What have you come about?"

Inwardly Mr. Eppington cursed himself for a fool, for the which he
was perhaps not altogether without excuse. He had meant to act the
part of a clever counsel, acquiring information while giving none;
by a blunder, he found himself in the witness-box.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," was the feeble response, "merely looked in
to see how Edith was."

"Much the same as at dinner last night, when you were here,"
answered Blake. "Come, out with it."

It seemed the best course now, and Mr. Eppington took the plunge.

"Don't you think," he said, unconsciously glancing round the room
to be sure they were alone, "that young Sennett is a little too
much about the house?"

Blake stared at him.

"Of course, we know it is all right--as nice a young fellow as ever
lived--and Edith--and all that. Of course, it's absurd, but--"

"But what?"