“My dear fellow,” he exclaimed banteringly, “how you go on! I don’t understand you at all. This is England. The lady is married. A little neighborly friendship. Hmm.” “Yes, yes,” I replied. “I know all about the neighborly friendship. You get me an introduction to the lady and I shall speak for myself.” “As for that matter,” he added thoughtfully, “it would not be inappropriate under the circumstances for me to introduce myself in your behalf. She would be pleased, I’m sure. You are a writer, you admire her. Why shouldn’t she be pleased?” “Curses!” I exclaimed. “Always in the way. Always stepping in just when I fancy I have found something for myself.” But nothing was done until Gerard Barfleur arrived a day or two before Christmas. That worthy had traveled all over England with various theatrical companies. Being the son of an eminent literary man he had been received in all circles, and knew comfortable and interesting people in every walk of life apparently, everywhere. Barfleur, who, at times, I think, resented his social sufficiency, was nevertheless prone to call on him on occasion for advice. On this occasion, since Gerard knew this neighborhood almost as well as his cousin, he consulted him as to our lady of the donkey. “Mrs. Churchill? Mrs. Barton Churchill?” I can still see his interested look. “Why, it seems to me that I do know some one of that name. If I am not mistaken I know her husband’s brother, Harris Churchill, up in Liverpool. He’s connected with a bank up there. We’ve motored all over England together, pretty nearly. I’ll stop in Christmas morning and see if it isn’t the same family. The description you give suits the lady I know almost exactly.” [Illustration: Barfleur] I was all agog. The picture she had presented was so smart. Barfleur was interested though perhaps disappointed, too, that Gerard knew her when he didn’t. “This is most fortunate,” he said to me solemnly. “Now if it should turn out that he does know her, we can call there Christmas day after dinner. Or perhaps he will take you.” This came a little regretfully, I think, for Gerard Barfleur accounted himself an equal master with his cousin in the matter of the ladies, and was not to be easily set aside. So Christmas eve it was decided that Gerard should, on the morrow, reconnoiter the Churchill country house early, and report progress, while we went to church. Fancy Barfleur and me marching to church Christmas morning with the children!