I told him of my own party, and lost no time in working the Cumberland days with his father for all they were worth. What happened to the Seraph I never discovered. As I hurried back to the Randolph for dinner, Robin met me with an apology in advance for the dull evening before me.

"'Fraid you'll have rather a rotten time," he opined. "I wish you had let me find you some old snag or other."

"I shall be all right, Robin," I said.

"There's sure to be bridge _somewhere_. Or look here, what about a roulette-board? Combine business with pleasure--what?"

"I shall be able to amuse myself," I assured him.

Our dinner that night was one of the gayest meals I have eaten; we were all expectant, excited, above our usual form--with the single exception of Philip. If I were a woman, I suppose I should notice these things; as it was I put his silent preoccupation down to overwork. When he approached Robin with other-world gentleness and suggested a stroll up St. Giles after dinner "just to keep me company, old boy," I ought to have suspected something; but it was not till the Seraph, smoking a lonely cigar, murmured something about "_Consul videat ne respublica detrimentum capiat_," that I saw my authority over Gladys was being threatened.

The girls had been despatched for their last mysterious finishing touches, and we had the hall of the Randolph to ourselves.

"What the deuce ought I to do, Seraph?" I asked.

"What _can_ you do?"

"I don't know."

"Why do anything?"

That is the question I always ask myself when I have no definite idea what is expected of me.

"I wish he'd had the consideration to wait till my brother came back,"

I grumbled.

"These little emotional crises never _do_ wait till we're ready for them, do they?"

"From the fulness of the heart...."

"Oh, pardon me, I was not speaking of myself."

"I thought you were."

The Seraph shook his head at me.

"No, you didn't. You aren't thinking of me, or Gladys, or Philip, or any one but your own self."

I hypnotised a waiter into taking my order for Benedictine.

"No emotional crises have come _my_ way," I protested.

"Something very curious has happened to you since we parted this afternoon."

I accounted for every moment of my time since our arrival in Oxford.

"Why didn't you tell me that before?" he exclaimed when I mentioned my chance meeting with Dick Davenant. "Joyce coming up for the ball? Will you...? No! sorry."

"Will I what?"

"It's no business of mine."

"Why d'you start talking about it, then? Will I what?"

The Seraph knocked the ash off his cigar, finished his coffee, and sat silent. I repeated my question.

"Well...." he hesitated nervously. "Are you going to propose to her to-night?"

"Really, Seraph!"

"You're going to--some time or other...."

"Don't talk nonsense!"

"...I was wondering if it would be to-night."

I felt myself growing rather annoyed and uncomfortable.

"Not very good form to talk like this," I said stiffly. "After all, she's a friend of yours and mine. A joke's all very well...."

"But I'm quite serious!"

"My dear Seraph, d'you appreciate that I've met the girl once--a few weeks ago--and once only since she was a child of five?"

"Oh yes. And do you remember my telling you what was bringing you back to England? Do you remember the impression she made on you that night?

If you're going to marry her...."

"Seraph, drop it!"

He withdrew into his shell, and we smoked without speaking until I began to be sorry for snubbing him.

"I didn't mean to be rude," I said apologetically. "But she's a nice girl; I may see her to-night for all I know to the contrary, and this coupling of names.... You see my point?"

The Seraph suddenly developed a nervous, excited earnestness.

"Let me give you a word of advice. If you're going to propose to her--oh, all right; if X. is going to propose to her, he'd better do it now--before the crash comes. There's going to be a very big crash; she's going down under it. If you--if X. proposed now, she might be got out of the way before it's too late. You--X. won't like to see the woman he's going to marry...."

"X. marries her then?" I asked in polite incredulity. "Oh, he should certainly lose no time."

"She may not accept you at once."

"Come and get your coat, Seraph."

"But she will later."

"Come and get your coat," I repeated.

"Ah--you don't believe me--well...."