'It looks like macaroni, or spaghetti. Perhaps the idea was suggested by your showing her how to cook it,' said Edith, laughing.

Madame Frabelle looked gravely serene.

'No--I don't think that had anything to do with it.'

'How literal you are, Eglantine!'

'Am I? I think you do me injustice, Edith dear,' returned the amiable guest with a tinge of stateliness as she rolled up her wool.

Edith smiled, put down her book, looked at the clock and rearranged the large orange-coloured cushion behind her back. Then she took the book up again, looked through it and again put it down.

'You're not at all--forgive me for saying so--not the least bit in the world restless today, Edith darling, are you?' said Madame Frabelle in a calm, clear, high voice that Edith found quite trying.

'Oh, I hope not--I think not.'

'Ah, that's well,' and Madame Frabelle, with one slight glance at her hostess, went on knitting.

'I believe I miss Archie a good deal,' said Edith.

'Ah, yes, you must indeed. I miss the dear boy immensely myself,'

sympathetically said Madame Frabelle. But Edith thought Madame Frabelle bore his loss with a good deal of equanimity, and she owned to herself that it was not surprising. The lady had been very good to Archie, but he had teased her a good deal. Like the Boy Scouts, but the other way round, he had almost made a point of worrying her in some way or other every day. Edith could never persuade him to change his view of her.

He said she was a fool.

Somehow, today Edith felt rather pleased with him for thinking so. All women are subject to moods, particularly, perhaps, those who have a visitor staying with them for a considerable time. There are moments of injustice, of unfairness to the most charming feminine guest, from the most gentle hostess. And also there are, undoubtedly, times when the nicest hostess gets a little on one's nerves.

So--critical, highly strung--Madame Frabelle was feeling today. So was Edith. Madame Frabelle was privately thinking that Edith was restless, that she had lost her repose, that her lips were redder than they used to be. Had she taken to using lip salve too? She was inclined to smile, with a twinkle in her eye, at Madame Frabelle's remarks, a shade too often. And what was Edith thinking of at this moment? She was thinking of Archie's remarks about Madame Frabelle. That boy had genius!

But there would be a reaction, probably during, or immediately after, tea-time, for these two women were sincerely fond of one another. The irritating fact that Edith was eighteen years younger than her guest made Eglantine feel sometimes a desire to guide, even to direct her, and if she had the disadvantage in age she wanted at least the privilege of gratifying her longing to give advice.

The desire became too strong to be resisted. The advantage of having something to do with her hands while she spoke was too great a one not to be taken advantage of. So Madame Frabelle said:

'Edith dear.'

'Yes?'

'I've been wanting to say something to you.'

Edith leant forward, putting her elbows on her knees and her face on her hands, and said:

'Oh, _do_ tell me, Eglantine. What is it?'

'It is simply this,' said the other lady, calmly continuing her knitting.... 'Very often when one's living with a person, one doesn't notice little things a comparative stranger would observe. Is that not so?'

'What have you observed? What's it about?'

'It is about your husband,' said Madame Frabelle.

'What! Bruce?' asked Edith.

'Naturally,' replied Madame Frabelle dryly.

'What have you observed about Bruce?'

'I have observed,' replied Madame Frabelle, putting her hand in the sock that she was knitting, and looking at it critically, her head on one side, 'I have observed that Bruce is not at all well.'

'Oh, I'm sorry you think that. It's true he has seemed rather what he calls off colour lately.'

'He suffers,' said Madame Frabelle, as if announcing a great discovery,'

he suffers from Nerves.'

'I know he does, my dear. Who should know it better than I do? But--do you think he is worse lately?'

'I do. He is terribly depressed. He says things to me sometimes that--well, that really quite alarm me.'

'I'm sorry. But you mustn't take Bruce too seriously, you know that.'

'Indeed I don't take him too seriously! And I've done my best either to change the subject or to make him see the silver lining to every cloud,'

Madame Frabelle answered solemnly, with a shake of her head.

'I think what Bruce complains of is the want of a silver lining to his purse,' Edith said.

'You are jesting, Edith dear.'

'No, I'm not. He worries about money.'

'But only incidentally,' said Madame Frabelle. 'Bruce is really worried about the war.'

'Naturally. But surely--I suppose we all are.'

'But Mr. Ottley takes it particularly to heart,' said Madame Frabelle, with a kind of touching dignity.

Edith looked at her in a little surprise. Why did she suddenly call Bruce 'your husband' or 'Mr. Ottley'?

'Why this distant manner, Eglantine?' said Edith, half laughing. 'I thought you always called him Bruce.'

'I beg your pardon; yes, I forgot. Well, don't you see, Edith dear, that what we might call his depression, his melancholy point of view, is--is growing worse and worse?'

Edith got up, walked to the other end of the room, rearranged some violets in a copper vase and came back to the sofa again. Madame Frabelle followed her with her eyes. Then Edith said, picking up the knitting:

'Take care, dear, you're losing your wool. Yes; perhaps he is worse. He might be better if he occupied his mind more.'

'He works at the Foreign Office from ten till four every day,' said Madame Frabelle in a tone of defence; 'he looks in at his club, where they talk over the news of the war, and then he comes home and we discuss it again.... Really, Edith, I scarcely see how much more he could do!'

'Oh, my dear, but don't you see all the time he doesn't do anything?--anything about the war, I mean. Now both you and I do our little best to help, in one way or another. You especially, I'm sure, do a tremendous lot; but what does Bruce do? Nothing, except talk.'

'That's just it, Edith. I doubt if your husband is in a fit state of health to strain his mind by any more work than he does already. He's not strong, dear; remember that.'

'Of course, I know; if he were all right he wouldn't be here,' said Edith.' I suppose he really does suffer a great deal.'