“How strange! I never heard the word itself spoken till last week. Where are the other people?” “Mother is in bed; she never shows till lunch; she has her toilette, and her little dog, and her letters. Lady Max is an early bird, but she breakfasts in her boudoir; she has a mighty correspondence--political and philanthropic. The girls are out--both golf mad. Griselda is a champion; the rest of the crowd were only neighbours. There is another big spread to-night, and a shoot to-morrow.” “Oh!”--and Joseline relapsed into silence, and sat staring at the fire. “Now, come, let’s talk, and get to know one another,” said Tito briskly. “You begin.” “Faix, it takes a long while to know people,” rejoined the other, in her soft, musical drawl. “But in my case I become an intimate, or an enemy, within the first half-hour.” “Faix, then, I hope you won’t become my enemy.” “No--though of course I ought to, after your turning up, and giving me the back seat!” Joseline became crimson, and looked uncomfortable and distressed. “Bar jokes! I mean to do you a good turn, and tell you things.” “I’ll be thankful to you, for I’m as ignorant as a young crow. What sort of things?” “Family news, family politics, family secrets that you would take ages to discover. Also I’ll be your child’s guide and adviser--for though I expect you are only a couple of years younger than I am, I am old enough in worldly ways to be your grandmother. You call me Tito, of course.” “Yes, of course. And your mother; what am I to call her?” “Um,” muttered Tito into the stump of her cigarette. “Um?” repeated her pupil. “Do you mean _Mum_?” “No. I’m considering,” she answered, with half-shut eyes. “I’ll let you know later. Did you do your hair yourself?” “Yes; av course I did. Why? Is it a holy show?” “No; ripping! Tell me, has the earl said anything to you about money, or an allowance?” “Yes. He said four hundred a year. It’s far too much.” “Too much!” suddenly sitting erect. “Not half enough. You could never do with it--that is, if you are to be dressed. Why, look at me!”--gesticulating. “Do you see this serge gown I’ve on? It cost twenty guineas--not paid for yet. My shoes”--she flourished her pretty feet--“three guineas. As to my evening gowns, that wretch ‘Du Du’ won’t let me have anything under thirty-five pounds, and then it’s sham lace, and looks like a rag in a week! Do you know that my winter coat cost one hundred and twenty pounds? That makes a big hole in four hundred pounds. I’ve the same allowance too, and I’m drowned in debt.” “_You_ in debt? Why I thought it was only poor people that owed!”