"I—I—don't know how it got there," stammered Staunton, foolishly. "I didn't put it there."
"Then one rather wonders who did," said Massingham, coldly. "It makes things a little difficult."
For a moment or two there was silence: then Delia spoke.
"On the contrary," she remarked, icily, "it seems to me to make them very easy. Good-night, Mr. Staunton. I shall not be at home to you in future."
And when Hugh Massingham returned a few minutes later, having shown the speechless and semi-dazed Staunton the front door, his wife had gone to her room.
"Undoubtedly one rather wonders who did," he murmured to himself with a faint smile. "But I think—I think, it was a good idea."
V
"It was a sort of infatuation, Hugh. I can't explain it." With her arm through his—she hadn't quite found her sea-legs yet—they were walking slowly up and down the promenade deck of the liner.
He smiled gently.
"Doesn't need any explanation, darling," he answered. "It's happened before: it will happen again. There are quite a number of Mr. James Stauntons at large—more's the pity."