'Bruce and he are together at the Foreign Office. Bruce thinks much of
him, and admires him. With it all I notice now and then a tinge of
bitterness in the way he speaks. He was describing their fancy-dress
ball to me the other day, and really his description of Mr Mitchell's
costume would have been almost spiteful in any other man.'

'Well, but Mr Mitchell is over sixty. And he was got up as a black
poodle.'

'Yes; quite so. But he's a fine-looking man, isn't he? And very pleasant
and hospitable?'

'Oh yes, of course.'

'On your birthday last week that magnificent basket of flowers came from
Mr Mitchell,' stated Eglantine.

'Certainly; from the Mitchells rather. But, really, that's nothing. I
think you'll be a little disappointed if you think he's at all of the
romantic type.'

'I didn't think that,' she answered, though of course she had; 'but
something told me--I don't know why--that there's some strange
attraction.... I never saw a more perfect wife than you, nor a more
perfect mother. But these things should be nipped in the bud, dear. They
get hold of you sometimes before you know where you are. And think,' she
went on with relish, 'how terrible it would be practically to break up
two homes!'

'Oh, really, I must stop you there,' cried Edith. 'You don't think of