A day or two later, Marianne called:
"Auntie," she said, "I haven't seen you for days. What's the matter? Are you vexed with me?"
"Why, no, Marianne."
"Yes, there's something. You're cross with me. Tell me that you're not cross with me. I haven't dined with you for an age. You are vexed with me because I invited myself. Tell me that I'm mistaken, that you're not vexed with me. And do ask me to dinner again, one day . . . It's such a busy time just now: parties, dinners, the Court ball the other night. It was very boring . . . We never see you. You never call on us. Nor Uncle either. It's all through that Brauws man."
Constance started, with that strange nervous catch in her throat:
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"That old friend of Uncle's, who speaks on Peace. I've heard him: it was splendid, splendid. His speech was topping, I'm mad on Peace. But he takes possession of Uncle; the boys have seen them together twice, in a motor-car. It's all through Brauws that I never see anything of either of you . . . I suppose he's been to dinner, too?"
"Once."
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