He would have given a good deal to persuade her to leave Wyndfell Hall; but he didn't know how to set about it.

In a sense she was the soul of the party.

The others all liked her.

Yet he, himself, felt a sort of growing repugnance to her which he would have been hard put to it to explain.

Indeed, the only way he could explain it--and he had thought a good deal about it the last few days--was that she undoubtedly possessed an uncanny power of starting into life images which had lain long dormant in his brain.
For one thing--but that, of course, might not be entirely Bubbles' fault--Milly, his poor wife, had become again terribly real to him.