“There must be!” cried Inglewood, turning round in a singular excitement⁠—“there must be something to wake up to! All we do is preparations⁠—your cleanliness, and my healthiness, and Warner’s scientific appliances. We’re always preparing for something⁠—something that never comes off. I ventilate the house, and you sweep the house; but what is going to happen in the house?”

She was looking at him quietly, but with very bright eyes, and seemed to be searching for some form of words which she could not find.

Before she could speak the door burst open, and the boisterous Rosamund Hunt, in her flamboyant white hat, boa, and parasol, stood framed in the doorway. She was in a breathing heat, and on her open face was an expression of the most infantile astonishment.

“Well, here’s a fine game!” she said, panting. “What am I to do now, I wonder? I’ve wired for Dr. Warner; that’s all I can think of doing.”