He felt naked--in a curious way dishonoured.

There only remained his cornelian talisman.

He got back in time for tea and kept his jacket closely buttoned.

But in the evening he had perforce to appear stark and ungirt--in those days Fashion had not yet decreed, as it does now, the absence of watchchain on evening dress--and Paul shambled into the drawing-room like a guest without a wedding garment.

There were still a few people staying in the house--the shooting party proper, and Lady Chudley, had long since gone--but enough remained to be a social microcosm for Paul.