“Bah!” he cried suddenly, as the last cadence of those noble Italian words died away on his lips; “I make an old fool of myself, and only weary you all! Let us shut up the window in our bosoms and get back to the matter-of-fact world. Percival! I sanction the admission of the lamps. Lady Glyde⁠—Miss Halcombe⁠—Eleanor, my good wife⁠—which of you will indulge me with a game at dominoes?”

He addressed us all, but he looked especially at Laura.