Yes, Philip went to Lords. "And I hope you are Middlesex." Yes; on consideration, Philip was Middlesex. "My _fiancé_ plays for Middlesex," mentioned Miss Garvey carelessly. Philip, secretly blessing this unknown cricketer, said eagerly:-- "I should like to hear about _him_"--implying that the rest of Middlesex did not matter. After that he enjoyed a welcome rest. By occasionally supplying such fuel as, "What did he do against the Australians in the fourth Test Match?" or, "What does he think about the off-theory?" he maintained a full head of steam on Miss Garvey for something like twenty minutes. He sat thankfully listening and watching the clock, secure in the knowledge that time was slipping away and that Timothy had promised that their call should not extend beyond half-past five. "Another five minutes and we are out of the wood," he said to himself. But he was mistaken. He had just accompanied Miss Garvey (chaperoned, of course, by the _fiancé_) step by step, match by match, through an entire cricket-tour in the Antipodes, including five Test Matches (with a special excursion up-country in order to see the _fiancé_ score a century against Twenty-Two of Woolloomoolloo), when his hostess once more intervened, with the inevitable sentence:-- "Mr. Meldrum, I want to introduce you to a charming girl." Once more, with leaden footsteps, Philip crossed the room. Timothy apparently had forgotten all about both him and the time. A despairing glance in his direction revealed him ensconced in a window-seat with Miss Babs Duncombe. In that fastness he remained for another forty minutes. When at length, restored to a sense of duty by the departure of Miss Duncombe and his introduction to a grim young woman interested in Foreign Missions, Master Timothy set out to reclaim his long-lost friend, Philip had passed through the hands, _seriatim_, of a damsel who had besought him to obtain for her autograph-book the signature of a certain music-hall comedian (mainly noted for an alcoholic repertoire and a deplorable wardrobe) whom she affirmed she "dearly loved"; another who endeavoured to convert him to the worship of Debussy, not desisting until she discovered that Philip imagined Debussy to be a French watering-place; and a third, whose title to fame appeared to be founded upon the fact that she had once bitten a policeman in order to demonstrate her fitness to exercise the Parliamentary franchise. "Now, we will go to the Club and drink deep," said Timothy, as they turned out of Lowndes Square. "You haven't thanked me yet, O brother, for your P.S.A." Philip eased his collar. "Timothy, my son," he observed, "I fear I must give up all thoughts of becoming a social success. I am only a Cave Man." CHAPTER XX THE PROVING OF THE BRAKE