"Not very handily, Mr. Smart," he said in an injured voice. "One of her sons occupied my bed. Of course, it was all right, because I didn't intend to go to bed, as it happened. The older son went upstairs with the Countess. She gave up her bed to him, and then she and I sat up all night in the study waiting for a telephone message from you. The younger son explained a good many things to us that his mother absolutely refused to discuss, she was so mad when she got here. It seems she took it into her head at the last minute to charter a special train, but forgot to notify us of the switch in the plans. She travelled by the regular train from Paris to some place along the line, where she got out and waited for the special which was following along behind, straight through from Paris, too. A woeful waste of money, it seemed to me. Her idea was to throw a couple of plain-clothes men off the track, and, by George, sir, she succeeded. They thought she was changing from a train to some place in Switzerland, and went off to watch the other station. Then she sneaked aboard the special, which was chartered clear through to Vienna. See how clever she is? If they followed on the next train, or telegraphed, it would naturally be to Vienna. She got off at this place and--well, we have her with us, sir, as snug as a bug in a rug." "What is she like, Fred?" I inquired. I confess that I hung on his reply. "I have never seen a wet hen, but I should say, on a guess, that she's a good bit like one. Perhaps when she's thoroughly dried out she may not be so bad, but--" He drew a long, deep breath. "But, upon my word of honour, she was the limit last night. Of course one couldn't expect her to be exactly gracious, with her hair plastered over her face and her hat spoiled and her clothes soaked, but there was really no excuse for some of the things she said to me. I shall overlook them for your sake and for the Countess's." He was painfully red in the face. "The conditions, Fred," I said, "were scarcely conducive to polite persiflage." "But, hang it all, I was as wet as she was," he exploded, so violently that I knew his soul must have been tried to the utmost. "We must try to make the best of it," I said. "It will not be for long." The thought of it somehow sent my heart back to its lowest level. He was glum and silent for a few minutes. Then he said, as if the thought had been on his mind for some hours: "She isn't a day over forty-five. It doesn't seem possible, with a six-foot son twenty-six years old." Grimly I explained. "They marry quite young when it's for money, Fred." "I suppose that's it," he sighed. "I fancy she's handsome, too, when she hasn't been rained upon." We were half way up the slope when he announced nervously that all of my dry clothing was in the closet off my bedroom and could not be got at under any circumstance.