Dr. Chetwynd put his latch-key into the lock and ushered his friend upstairs to his wife's pretty drawing-room.
But Bella was not there; and finding that she was not in her bedroom, or in fact in the house at all, he rang the bell and questioned the maid as to when her mistress had gone out and if she knew when she would be likely to return.
"No, sir, that I'm sure I don't. My mistress never said anything to me."
"Well, she is not likely to be away long," remarked the doctor philosophically. "Have a cigar, Meynell."
"Thanks, no. Your wife spoils you, Jack, if she allows you to smoke in her pretty little room."
"Oh, she will not mind; but we will go down to my den shortly. You see, Meynell, I'm a bit of a Bohemian, although I like to preserve the customs of the civilised world all the same, to a certain extent. But my little wife—well—she—she—I daresay you may have heard she was on the stage before I married her."
"No, indeed I hadn't." Gus Meynell looked a good deal surprised.
"Well, I mention it because perhaps she is not quite like the ordinary run of women."
Meynell could no longer be blind to the want of ease in his host's manner, and in his turn became proportionately uncomfortable.
"Hang it all! A man marries to please himself," he said awkwardly.
"She is just the dearest girl in the world," continued Jack Chetwynd, with warmth. "I'm not only fond of her, but proud of her too, but you know—"
"I perfectly understand what you mean. To my idea unconventionality is the most charming thing a woman can have. I hate the bride manufactured out of the schoolgirl. The oppressive resemblance between most of our friends' wives is one of the safe-guards of society."
"What is that?" Chetwynd broke in upon his friend's speech with a nervous start and exclamation. The hall door opened with a loud bang and a woman's noisy laugh could be heard as a pelter of high-heeled shoes came along the tesselated
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