his gesture, his walk. In it Mrs. Chater bathed; to be carried along
in the train of his mighty "I" was delectable to her. But to-night she
could not effect the passage.

A final effort she made to get aboard. "And in St. Petersburg!" she
tempted. "I wonder if you ever saw the _Tsar_ when you were in St.
Petersburg?"

Bob drove her back: "St. Petersburg's a loathsome place."

Mrs. Chater tried to squeeze through. "So _gay_, they say."

Bob slammed the gate. "I wish you'd _tell_ me something instead of
expecting _me_ to do all the talking. I want to hear all that's been
going on here while I've been away, but I'm hanged if I can find out."

A little mortified, Mrs. Chater said: "I've hardly seen you, dear,
except at meals"--then threw the onus for her son's lack of local
gossip upon her husband. Addressing him, "You've been with Bob all the
morning," she told him. "I wonder you haven't given him all the news.
But, there! I suppose you've done nothing but question him about what
business he's done!"

Mr. Chater, startled at the novelty of being drawn into table
conversation while his son and his wife were present, dropped his
spoon with a splash into his soup, wiped his coat, frowned at the
parlour-maid, cleared his throat, and, to gain time to determine
whether he had courage to say that which was burning within him, threw
out an "Eh?" for his pursuing wife to Worry.