"I do hope he won't do anything awful," said Isobel anxiously. "I asked him for to-day because I thought there'd be nobody here that mattered, and of _course_ Lady Anderson _would_ take the opportunity to come and look round on that exact day." "Who's she?" Isobel sighed. "She is my Hated Rival," she explained. "That is, I'm hers. She also runs an officers' hospital, and she's coming over to see how I run mine. She disapproves of me altogether--always has--and now she's furiously jealous about the hospital, so we _are_ in for a nice time. She's father's pet aversion, too." "Thank God I've picked to-day to go to town!" said Allen piously. "I wish you joy of your day." She smiled mournfully. "Get back early and comfort me." * * * * * * * Alf was not looking forward with pleasure to his afternoon, either. All the morning a sense of the importance of the impending function weighed upon his mind; and as the day wore on the more particular problem of what clothes to wear refused to be either settled or banished. Immediately after lunch he went to his bedroom and, spreading out his entire wardrobe before him, spent an hour in an agony of indecision. Finally he went to Bill and implored his help. Bill was heavily occupied with his flagon and his handmaid and at first refused to apply his intellect to the matter at all; but the mere idea of having to solve the insistent sartorial problem unaided drove Alf into desperation. He pleaded and threatened until Bill rose in disgust from his divan and, with Lucy following, went into Alf's room. "A nursemaid is what you wants, Alf," he said bitterly. "I never see such a blinkin' kid as you in my life. I should have thought you'd have known what's what at your age better'n to 'ave to come runnin' to me about it. 'Owever...." He sat down on the bed and regarded the wild confusion of clothes with lofty scorn. "Well," said Alf--his agitation lending a touch of asperity to his tone--"instead of talkin' like that, s'spose you get on with it. What ought I to wear?" Bill sniffed scornfully. "Why," he said breezily, "a pot 'at, o' course, and them black things o' yours. You can't go wrong that way." "I thought you'd say that," answered Alf dejectedly. "I was 'opin' as 'ow a straw 'at might--them black things is that 'ot I can't 'ardly breathe. 'Owever, I s'pose yer right." He began to sort out his garments of ceremony from the pile before him. "Don't forget your spats," said Bill. He settled himself more comfortably on the bed. "'Ere, Lucy, my dear, come over 'ere beside me." "Oh, indeed," said Alf, realizing her presence for the first time. "No, you don't. I don't 'ave no females in my room while I'm dressing." "Don't trouble yerself about that," replied Bill airily. "Carry on. Lucy won't mind." Alf stared with strong disapprobation at Lucy, who smiled coyly at him and displayed a large expanse of bare leg.