"I didn't notice it," said Hughie. "He was quite tractable. Apparently you engaged him at Hyde Park Terrace and stopped at two shops on the way." "That is correct." "And you gave him one and threepence for a drive of over two miles and a stop of about ten minutes." "His legal fare. We employed him for exactly half an hour." "But did you tell him that you were engaging him by the hour?" "Of course not! They simply _crawl_ if you do. You might have known that, Mr. Marrable." "Well, it's all right now," interposed Joan cheerfully. "Mr. Marrable," persisted Miss Harbord, "I fear you were weak with him. How much did you give him?" "Nothing out of the way," said Hughie uneasily. "You'll stay to lunch, won't you? I am expecting the Leroys and D'Arcy. We can all go on to a _matinée_ afterwards." Miss Harbord assumed the expression of one who is not to be won over by fair words, and endeavoured to catch Miss Gaymer's eye--an enterprise which failed signally, as the latter lady rose from her seat and strolled to the window. "Mr. Marrable," began Miss Harbord, taking up her parable single-handed, "Joan wishes to have a chat with you about money-matters." "No I don't, Hughie," said Miss Gaymer promptly, over her shoulder. "Well then, dear," said Miss Harbord calmly, "you ought to. Women leave these things to men far too much as it is. Joan has an old-fashioned notion," she added to Hughie, "that it is not quite nice for girls to know anything about money-matters: hence her reluctance. However, I will conduct her case for her." Miss Harbord crossed her legs, threw herself back in her chair in a manner which demonstrated most conclusively her contempt for appearances and feminine ideas of decorum, and began: "Tell me, Mr. Marrable, what interest does Joan get on her money?" Hughie gaped feebly. Half an hour ago he had put Mr. Lance Gaymer to the door for an almost precisely similar question. But Lance Gaymer was a man, and Miss Harbord, conceal the fact as she might, was a woman; and Hughie's old helplessness paralysed him once more. "The usual rate of interest," he said lamely, "is about four per cent." Ursula Harbord nodded her head, as who should say, "I expected that!" and produced a crumpled newspaper from her muff. "That," she said almost indulgently, "reveals your ignorance of the world, Mr. Marrable. If you mixed a little more in affairs, and followed some regular occupation, you would have more opportunities of discovering things for yourself, and so be spared the indignity--I suppose you consider it an indignity?--of having to be advised by a woman." The afflicted Hughie murmured something about it being a pleasure.