And then he would have changed the subject, and sipped his coffee in peace. But Mr. Yates, without discernment of Sir Thomas’s meaning, or delicacy, or discretion, continued on the topic of the theatre, even retelling the whole history of his disappointment at Ecclesford. Sir Thomas listened most politely, but found much to offend his ideas of decorum, and confirm his ill-opinion of Mr. Yates.

“This was, in fact, the origin of our acting,” said Tom, after a moment’s thought. “My friend Yates brought the infection from Ecclesford, and it—ahem—spread.”

“Yes indeed, like sweet reeds fluttering on the banks of the Nile,” intoned Lady Bertram. “Little green scarabs running along the shore into the sand—”

Mr. Yates took the thespian subject and carried on, regardless of Sir Thomas’s growing dark looks and everyone’s relentless fidgeting.

Not less acutely was it felt by Fanny, who had edged back her chair behind her aunt’s end of the sofa—finding herself somehow in the vicinity of Lord Eastwind—and, screened from notice herself, saw all that was passing before her. Such a look of reproach at Edmund from his father she never expected to witness. That it was deserved, was a sorrow indeed. Sir Thomas’s look implied, “On your judgment, Edmund, I depended; what have you been about?” She knelt in spirit to her uncle, and her bosom swelled to utter, “Oh, not to him! Look so to all the others, but not to him!”

“You are unhappy, Miss Price?” said a soft voice. And she turned to observe Lord Eastwind addressing her with his enigmatic expression.

“I am—indeed, I am concerned. My uncle is growing more miserable with every word, and the longer this dire situation goes on, the worse—”

“Would it make you relieved, Miss Price, if there is to be some distraction?”

Fanny was perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“This,” said Lord Eastwind. And he slowly moved his hand palm up, then brought it down again. . . .

Mr. Yates was still talking. “To own the truth, Sir Thomas, we were in the middle of a rehearsal when you arrived this evening. We were going through the three first acts, and not unsuccessfully upon the whole. Our company is now so dispersed, from the Crawfords being gone home, that nothing more can be done to-night; but if you will give us the honour of your company to-morrow evening—”

Before he could finish the utterance, Mr. Yates choked. He started coughing, and seemed to go into a full-blown fit, his face growing red. And then suddenly he coughed up something in his throat.

It came forth out of his mouth—a bright green beetle the size of a crown piece—and scuttled down his cravat and jacket.

Julia gave a tiny gasp.