"Do you intend to take part in the fray?"

"Not unless I can be one of the reserve corps that won't need to be
brought up till it's all over. I've no idea of getting my hair down."

"Ah," he sighed, "you think it's going to be rude:"

"That is one of the chances. But you seem to be suffering about it, Mr.
Verrian!" she said, and, of course, she laughed.

"Who? I?" he returned, in the temptation to deny it. But he resisted.
"I always suffer when there's anything silly happening, as if I were
doing it myself. Don't you?"

"No, thank you, I believe not. But perhaps you are doing this? One
can't suppose Mrs. Westangle imagined it."

"No, I can't plead guilty. But why isn't it predicable of Mrs.
Westangle?"

"You mustn't ask too much of me, Mr. Verrian. Somehow, I won't say how,
it's been imagined for her. She's heard of its being done somewhere. It
can't be supposed she's read of it, anywhere."

"No, I dare say not."

Miss Macroyd came out with her laugh. "I should like to know what she
makes of you, Mr. Verrian, when she is alone with herself. She must have
looked you up and authenticated you in her own way, but it would be as
far from your way as--well, say--the Milky Way."