'I beg your pardon, I'm sure;' Geraldine turned to her visitors and extended the box. 'Won't you have a marron glacé?'
And the visitors gazed at each other in startled, affrighted silence.
'Has Henry eaten some?' Mrs. Knight asked, shaken.
'He had one or two before tea,' Geraldine answered. 'Why?'
'I knew he was going to be ill!' said Aunt Annie.
'But he's been eating marrons glacés every day for a fortnight. Haven't you, sweetest?' said Geraldine.
'I can believe it,' Aunt Annie murmured, 'from his face.'
'Oh dear! Women! Women!' Henry whispered facetiously.
'He's only saving his appetite for dinner,' said Geraldine, with intrepid calm.
'My dear girl,' Mrs. Knight observed, again in that peculiar dry tone, 'if I know anything about your husband, and I've had him under my care for between twenty and thirty years, he will eat nothing more to-day.'