Again the breakfast recess was full of charming light. About the walls the love-making butterflies danced when carafes were moved, and only the flowers on the table were different—for it was early in a halcyon autumn, and the mulberry outside had already begun to turn. The faces of the Esdailes and the Rookes were enviably brown, for Monty and Audrey had spent three weeks at Santon and the whole party had returned together; and Joan, who knows perfectly well that I adore her, had very simply and sweetly come over to my side of the table and linked her hands for a moment round my arm. Then, after a warm little pressure, she had returned to Chummy again, who had risen. He was staying at an hotel in Gloucester Road, must get out of his wedding garments, and would then return to take Joan away.

"Don't change your mind and not come back," Joan called after him; and he waved his hand from the door and was off.

"What about Joan? Isn't it time she was changing too?" Philip hinted.

Mollie gave him a sidelong look. It was understood that Philip was willing at last to explain himself, and that look was Mollie's comment on the situation. Mingled with its fondness were faint pity, irony, wonder at us. It said, as plainly as need be, "That tiresome business all over again! What a sex!"

But all she openly said was, "Come along then, Joan—you too, Audrey—never let it be said we aren't properly submissive——"

And they too departed.

Instantly Cecil Hubbard swung round his chair to face Philip. Philip gave a backward glance through the French windows. He seemed to derive some reassurance from the sunlight that made vivid the garden outside.

"Well...?"

"Well...."

The words came simultaneously from the two men. As for the rest of us, we were content for the present to let Cecil Hubbard make the running.