would, I could not dismiss them altogether from my mind. What
was Mary Cavendish's concern in the matter?

Mr. Inglethorp was in the drawing-room when I came down to
supper. His face was impassive as ever, and the strange
unreality of the man struck me afresh.

Mrs. Inglethorp came down last. She still looked agitated, and
during the meal there was a somewhat constrained silence.
Inglethorp was unusually quiet. As a rule, he surrounded his
wife with little attentions, placing a cushion at her back, and
altogether playing the part of the devoted husband. Immediately
after supper, Mrs. Inglethorp retired to her boudoir again.

"Send my coffee in here, Mary," she called. "I've just five
minutes to catch the post."

Cynthia and I went and sat by the open window in the
drawing-room. Mary Cavendish brought our coffee to us. She
seemed excited.

"Do you young people want lights, or do you enjoy the twilight?"
she asked. "Will you take Mrs. Inglethorp her coffee, Cynthia? I
will pour it out."

"Do not trouble, Mary," said Inglethorp. "I will take it to
Emily." He poured it out, and went out of the room carrying it
carefully.

Lawrence followed him, and Mrs. Cavendish sat down by us.