That she was able to breathe, to move, to talk, to go through the pretence of eating, was to her in the nature of a mild surprise.  Life went on, but it seemed to Honora in the hours following this scene that it was life only.  Of the ability to feel she was utterly bereft.  Her calmness must have been appalling:  her own indifference to what might happen now,—­if she could have realized it,—­even more so.  And in the afternoon, wandering about the house, she found herself in the conservatory.  It had been built on against the library, and sometimes, on stormy afternoons, she had tea there with Hugh in the red-cushioned chairs beside the trickling fountain, the flowers giving them an illusion of summer.

Under ordinary circumstances the sound of wheels on the gravel would have aroused her, for Hugh scarcely ever drove.  And it was not until she glanced through the open doors into the library that she knew that a visitor had come to Highlawns.  He stood beside the rack for the magazines and reviews, somewhat nervously fingering a heavy watch charm, his large silk hat bottom upward on the chair behind him.  It was Mr. Israel Simpson.  She could see him plainly, and she was by no means hidden from him by the leaves, and yet she did not move.  He had come to see Hugh, she understood; and she was probably going to stay where she was and listen.  It seemed of no use repeating to herself that this conversation would be of vital importance; for the mechanism that formerly had recorded these alarms and spread them, refused to work.  She saw Chiltern enter, and she read on his face that he meant to destroy.  It was no news to her.  She had known it for a long, long time—­in fact, ever since she had came to Grenoble.  Her curiosity, strangely enough—­or so it seemed afterwards—­was centred on Mr. Simpson, as though he were an actor she had been very curious to see.

It was this man, and not her husband, whom she perceived from the first was master of the situation.  His geniality was that of the commander of an overwhelming besieging force who could afford to be generous.  She seemed to discern the cloudy ranks of the legions behind him, and they encircled the world.  He was aware of these legions, and their presence completely annihilated the ancient habit of subserviency with which in former years he had been wont to enter this room and listen to the instructions of that formidable old lion, the General:  so much was plain from the orchestra.  He went forward with a cheerful, if ponderous bonhomie.

“Ah, Hugh,” said he, “I got your message just in time.  I was on the point of going over to see old Murdock.  Seriously ill—­you know—­last time, I’m afraid,” and Mr. Simpson shook his head.  He held out his hand.  Hugh did not appear to notice it.

“Sit down, Mr. Simpson,” he said.

Mr. Simpson sat down.  Chiltern took a stand before him.

“You asked me the other day whether I would take a certain amount of the stock and bonds of the Grenoble Light and Power Company, in which you are interested, and which is, I believe, to supply the town with electric light, the present source being inadequate.”