What had he said? What was there in the mention
of the Alethea to disturb a conversation so harmonious? That there was
something his quick wit told him in a moment. While Marchmont said
good-bye to May he stood by, frowning a little, and then escorted his
guest downstairs. While he was away his wife stood quite still in the
middle of the room, a little flushed and breathing rather quickly.
Quisante came back, sat down, and took up a newspaper. May sat in her
usual chair, doing nothing. Presently he asked, "Did I say anything
wrong?"
"No. But I'd rather you didn't talk about the Alethea when Mr. Marchmont
is with us." He looked up in, surprise. "It embarrasses me--and him too."
"Embarrasses you? Why should it?"
"There's no use in my telling you."
"I can't see why it should embarrass you. Pray tell me."
She sat silent for a moment or two. "It's no good," she said, looking
over to him with a forlorn smile. He moved his hand impatiently. "Very
well. At dinner at Ashwood, on the night you were taken ill, somebody
talked about the Alethea and said Professor Maturin had told him there
was a fatal defect in it.
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