and at St. Helier’s tea-parties. The absolutely platonic nature of the Professor’s relations with Lily seemed to be understood, for in a place where scandal is peculiarly rife, their friendship never excited any.
In the course of six years Le Mesurier had become a cipher in his own house, and Shergold ruled by suggestion in small things as well as in great. Le Mesurier covered an intolerable hatred with a sullen and morose manner, and had endured with apparent insensibility many keener mortifications than the one which finally brought matters to a crisis.
He had come home tired one day from the golf links, and found Shergold, as usual, discoursing to Lily in the drawing-room. Le Mesurier threw himself into an easy chair, conscious of no more than his habitual annoyance. The drawing-room tea had been taken away, and it wanted about half-an-hour to dinner. Shergold commented on his fagged appearance, and offered him refreshment.
"Come now, do take a glass of wine," he said, "or some brandy and soda;" with all the cordial civility of a man dispensing hospitality from his own hearth-rug. "Let me ring for it."
But before he could touch the bell, Le Mesurier was on his feet, his temper boiling over, his mouth spluttering forth indignant protestations. The infernal insolence of the man, to play the host to him in his own house! "By God," he cried, "I think this really is the limit!"
The Professor, always coldly superior, and deaf to Lily's entreaties where his own dignity was at stake, took up his hat, and left the room. A moment later he was passing before the windows on his way to the lodge-gates.
Then came a scene with Lily, more shattering than anything Le Mesurier could have imagined. In her cool little voice, she said
