“Martha, telephone to Mrs. Edgerly—­you know her number-and say that I am very sorry, but an unexpected duty calls me out of town to-night, and ask her to communicate with the Reverend Mr. Field.  As for staying with you, Honora,” she continued, “I have to be back at Silverdale to-morrow night.  Perhaps you and Howard will come back with me.  My frank opinion is, that a rest from the gayety of Quicksands will do you good.”

“I will come, with pleasure,” said Honora.  “But as for Howard—­I’m afraid he’s too busy.”

“And how about dinner?” asked Mrs. Holt.

“I forgot to say,” said Honora, that Mr. Brent’s downstairs.  He brought me here, of course.  Have you any objection to his dining with us?”

“No,” answered Mrs. Holt, “I think I should like to see him.”

After Mrs. Holt had given instructions to her maid to pack, and Honora had brushed some of the dust of the roads from her costume, they descended to the ladies’ parlour.  At the far end of it a waiter holding a card was standing respectfully, and Trixton Brent was pacing up and down between the windows.  When he caught sight of them he stopped in his tracks, and stared, and stood as if rooted to the carpet.  Honora came forward.

“Oh, Mr. Brent!” she cried, “my old friend, Mrs. Holt, is here, and she’s going to take dinner with us and come down to Quicksands for the night.  May I introduce Mr. Brent.”

“Wasn’t it fortunate, Mr. Brent, that Mrs. Spence happened to find me?” said Mrs. Holt, as she took his hand.  “I know it is a relief to you.”

It was not often, indeed, that Trixton Brent was taken off his guard; but some allowance must be made for him, since he was facing a situation unparalleled in his previous experience.  Virtue had not often been so triumphant, and never so dramatic as to produce at the critical instant so emblematic a defender as this matronly lady in dove colour.  For a moment, he stared at her, speechless, and then he gathered himself together.

“A relief?” he asked.

“It would seem so to me,” said Mrs. Holt.  “Not that I do not think you are perfectly capable of taking care of her, as an intimate friend of her husband.  I was merely thinking of the proprieties.  And as I am a guest in this hotel, I expect you both to do me the honour to dine with me before we start for Quicksands.”

After all, Trixton Brent had a sense of humour, although it must not be expected that he should grasp at once all the elements of a joke on himself so colossal.

“I, for one,” he said, with a slight bow which gave to his words a touch somewhat elaborate, “will be delighted.”  And he shot at Honora a glance compounded of many feelings, which she returned smilingly.

“Is that the waiter?” asked Mrs. Holt.

“That is a waiter,” said Trixton Brent, glancing at the motionless figure.  “Shall I call him?”

“If you please,” said Mrs. Holt.  “Honora, you must tell me what you like.”