"An accident impossible to foresee," she acquiesced, with the slightest trace of bitterness—so slight that her husband did not notice it.
Ruston rose.
"Well, you'd better talk to Semingham about it," he remarked to Harry Dennison; "he's one of us, you know."
"Yes, I will. And I'll just get you that pamphlet of mine; you can put it in your pocket."
He ran out of the room to fetch what he promised. Mrs. Dennison, still faintly smiling, held out her hand to Ruston.
"It's been very pleasant to see you again," she said graciously. "I hope it won't be eight years before our next meeting."
"Oh, no; you see I'm floating now."
"Floating?" she repeated, with a smile of enquiry.
"Yes; on the surface. I've been in the depths till very lately, and there one meets no good society."
"Ah! You've had a struggle?"