of his brows Julian had caught their private glances at the table.  And Louis was now carrying trays for her, and hobnobbing with her in the kitchen!  Lastly, because Julian could not pass the night in the house, Louis, the interloper, had the effrontery to offer to fill his place—­on some preposterous excuse about burglars!  And the fellow was so polite and so persuasive, with his finicking eloquence.  By virtue of a strange faculty not uncommon in human nature Julian loathed Louis’ good manners and appearance—­and acutely envied them.

He burst out with scarcely controlled savagery—­

“A lot of good you’d be with burglars!”

The women were outraged by his really shocking rudeness.  Rachel bit her lip and began to fold up the cloth.  Mrs. Maldon’s head slightly trembled.  Louis alone maintained a perfect equanimity.  It was as if he were invulnerable.

“You never know!” he smiled amiably, and shrugged his shoulders.  Then he finished his operation on the fire.

“I’m sure it’s very kind and thoughtful of you, Louis,” said Mrs. Maldon, driven to acceptance by Julian’s monstrous behaviour.

“Moreover,” Louis urbanely continued, smoothing down his trousers with a long perpendicular caress as he usually did after any bending—­“moreover, there’s always my revolver.”

He gave a short laugh.

“Revolver!” exclaimed Mrs. Maldon, intimidated by the mere name.  Then she smiled, in an effort to reassure herself.  “Louis, you are a tease.  You really shouldn’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” said Louis, with that careful air of false blank casualness which he would invariably employ for his more breath-taking announcements.  “I always carry a loaded revolver.”

The fearful word “loaded” sank into the heart of the old woman, and thrilled her.  It was a fact that for some weeks past Louis had been carrying a revolver.  At intervals the craze for firearms seizes the fashionable youth of a provincial town, like the craze for marbles at school, and then dies away.  In the present instance it had been originated by the misadventure of a dandy with an out-of-work artisan on the fringe of Hanbridge.  Nothing could be more correct than for a man of spirit and fashion thus to arm himself in order to cow the lower orders and so cope with the threatened social revolution.

“You don’t, Louis!” Mrs. Maldon deprecated.

“I’ll show you,” said Louis, feeling in his hip pocket.

“Please!” protested Mrs. Maldon, and Rachel covered her face with her hands and drew back from Louis’ sinister gesture.  “Please don’t show it to us!” Mrs. Maiden’s tone was one of imploring entreaty.  For an instant she was just like a sentimentalist who resents and is afraid of hearing the truth.  She obscurely thought that if she resolutely refused to see the revolver it would somehow cease to exist.  With a loaded revolver in the house the situation seemed more dangerous and more complicated than ever.  There was something absolutely terrifying in the conjuncture of a loaded revolver and a secret hoard of bank-notes.