and disgust in his quick glance. He became ceremoniously polite to his guests, which always meant, with Basil, that he wished them away. His finely-cut face, with the new look of austerity that the last fortnight had given it, with its new hardness, took on an expression of satiric patience. He paid Alice some outrageous compliments, and at last even her not very acute sensibilities were touched.
"What an old prig you're getting to be, Basil," she said carelessly, as they left the table. "You're so different from what you used to be—there isn't any more jollity about you now than there is about a town-pump. And you look as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. Really, you're a wet blanket. I'm going to take Teresa off with me in the motor. I'm sure she wants a little life, poor dear."
"By all means, give it to her," said Basil. "I'm quite aware that I'm dull company, as you say—I'm only a poor grub, plugging away. I don't pretend to compete with bright butterflies like you and Fairfax."
Teresa went off in the motor, which Alice insisted on driving herself at a flying speed, and which came to grief, descending a hill, at a sharp turn. A tire burst, and the machine was left with the chauffeur. Alice and Fairfax walked to a near-by station and took a train, and Teresa walked home—six miles along the silent country
