My slight impulse of irritation at such a description applied to one of my wedding guests passed when I looked up and saw the person to whom Mr. Bundercombe had directed my attention. I recognized the adequacy of the wording." "That," I replied, "is the Earl of Porthoning." "Kind of connection, isn't he?" Mr. Bundercombe inquired. I nodded. "His son married my sister." Mr. Bundercombe regarded him with a certain wistfulness which I did not at that moment understand. Just then Lord Porthoning made his way toward us. As I watched him approach I realized more than ever the justice of Mr. Bundercombe's description. He was undersized, bent nearly double, and on his wizened face and shining out of his narrow black eyes was an indescribable expression of malevolence. Even the smile with which he greeted me had something unpleasant in it. "Well, Paul!" he exclaimed. "Well, my boy, so you're hooked at last, are you?" Considering that I was enjoying a few minutes' respite in my task of helping Eve receive our wedding guests, the statement, though crude, was obvious enough. "Glad to see you, Lord Porthoning!" I said, lying miserably. "Do you know my father-in-law, Mr. Bundercombe?" Mr. Bundercombe extended his ready hand, which my connection, however, appeared not to see. "Yes, yes!" he admitted. "Some one pointed him out to me. I asked who on earth it could be. No offense, mind," Lord Porthoning continued; "but I hate all Americans and our connections with them. I have been looking at your presents, Paul. A poorish lot--a poorish lot! Now I was at Dick Stanley's wedding last week--married Colonel Morrison's daughter, you know. Never saw such jewelry in my life! Four necklaces; and a tiara from the Duchess of Westshire that must have been worth a cool ten thousand pounds." "I am sorry my wedding presents do not meet with your approval," I remarked. "Personally I think it is very kind of my friends to send me anything at all." "Rubbish, Paul! Rubbish!" my amiable connection interjected irritably. "Don't talk like an idiot! You know they send you things because they've got to. You've been through it yourself. Must have cost you a pretty penny in your time sending out wedding presents! Now you reap the harvest." "I suppose," I observed dryly, "that yours is the reasonable point of view." "Absolutely, my dear fellow--absolutely!" Lord Porthoning declared. "Of course you couldn't expect quite the same enthusiasm on the part of your friends when you marry a young lady who is a stranger to all of them and who comes from the backwoods of America. Can't think how it is you young Englishmen can marry nothing, nowadays, unless it shows its legs upon the stage or has a transatlantic drawl. I am going in to see if the champagne they're opening now is any better. The first glass I had was horrid!" My father-in-law watched him disappear through the crowd, and stood patiently by my side while I exchanged greetings with a few newly arrived friends.