“Oh, come, come,” Robert Grimshaw said. “I’ve given you your opening; you’re quite right to take it. But I’ve not the least doubt that I’ve got the Dago vices if any pressure came to bring ’em out. I dare say I shouldn’t be straight about money if I were hard up. Fortunately, I’m not. I dare say I should be untruthful if I ever had occasion to be. I should be rather too tender-hearted and too slack to get on in the world if I had to do it--at least, I suppose so.” She said: “Well, _well_! _Here’s_ a joke! Here we have--what is it?--a Dago--a blamed Dago, as Clement P. would say.” “You know the Van Husums?” Grimshaw interrupted her. “Oh, I thought I’d tickle you,” she said. “Yes, I know the Van Husums, and your Katya Lascarides was in their employment, wasn’t she? But I’m not going to talk of your other flame, Mr. Robert Hurstlett Grimshaw. You don’t play your Oriental harem trick in this taxi-cab. One man one girl’s the motto here. I only introduced Clement P.’s name to stir you up; you’re so _damn_ calm.” “This is a fight,” Grimshaw said. “You score one and go on.” “What are we fighting for?” she asked. “Ah! that’s telling,” he said. “If you only want to tell me I’m a bad, bad girl,” she said, “I know it already. I’m rather proud of it.” “You ought to be,” he said; “you play up to it well. But it’s not that that would have brought me here. I’ve got an object.” “Want to make me promise to leave your adopted nephew in peace?” she asked. “Oh, Pauline’s taken hold again,” Grimshaw said. “You aren’t going to have another look in.” “Oh, I’ve had all I want of him,” she said. “She can have the dregs.” “That’s a pretty appropriate word at present,” he said. “A good word for Dudley--dregs.” “What the deuce do you mean?” she asked. “Anything happened to Dudley?” “You’ll hear when we get to Bushey,” he said. “I’ll tell you when we pass the fifth chestnut of the avenue.” “What the deuce is it?” she asked. He answered merely: “Ah!” Her hard eyes gazed straight forward through the screen of glass. “Something happened to Dudley?” she said. “And it’s not that his wife’s lamning into him about me.” “Oh, Pauline takes it as the negligible thing that it was,” Grimshaw said. She uttered: “Thanks!” still absently. Then “Dregs?” she repeated. Suddenly she turned upon him and caught hold of his hand. “It’s not ...” she began. “You’ll hear when we get to Bushey,” he said. “It’s ten minutes still.” “Oh, you devil!” she said--“you tormenting devil!” He just lifted up one hand in token of assent. “Yes, it’s the function of the devil to torment the damned. You’ve had what you wanted in Dudley Leicester’s case; now you’ve got to take what you get for it--from his best friend.” “His wife’s best friend,” she said. “And his wife’s best friend,” Grimshaw repeated calmly. They were shooting fast over bad roads between villas. Etta Stackpole may have shaken with laughter, or it may have been merely a “Thankee, marm” in the road.