"You see," she explained, "I am rather afraid. We might get you into no end of trouble with some of your most particular friends. There are one or two people, you know, in London, especially among the Americans, who might say the unkindest things about us." "No one, my dear Eve," I assured her stolidly, "shall say anything to me or to any one else about my future wife." For a moment her expression was almost hopeless. She shook her head. "I don't know what to do with him, daddy!" she exclaimed, turning toward her father in despair. "I'm afraid you'll have to marry him if he goes on," Mr. Parker declared gloomily; "that is," he added, as though he had suddenly perceived a ray of hope about the matter, "unless we should by any chance get into trouble first." "Meantime," I ventured, "we will dine at eight o'clock at the Milan." Mr. Parker groaned. "At the Milan!" he echoed. "Worse and worse! We shall be recognized for certain! There's a man lives there whom I did out of a hundred pounds-- just a little variation of the confidence trick. Nothing he can get hold of, you understand; but he knows very well that I had him. Look here, Walmsley, be reasonable! Hadn't you better drop this chivalrous scheme of yours, young fellow?" "The dinner is a fixture," I replied firmly. "Can I borrow Miss Eve, please? I want to take her for a motor ride." "You cannot, sir," Mr. Parker told me. "Eve has a little business of her own--or, rather, mine--to attend to this morning." "You are not going to let her run any more risks, are you?" Mr. Parker frowned at me. "Look here, young man," he said; "she is my daughter, remember! I am looking after her for the present. You leave that to me." Eve touched me on the arm. "Really, I am busy to-day," she assured me. "I have to do something for daddy this morning--something quite harmless; and this afternoon I have to go to my dressmaker's. We'll come at eight o'clock." "We'll come on this condition," Mr. Parker suddenly determined: "My name is getting a little too well known, and it isn't my own, anyway. We'll come as Mr. and Miss Bundercombe or not at all." "Why on earth Bundercombe?" I demanded. "For the reason I have just stated," Mr. Parker said obstinately. "Parker isn't my name at all; and, between you and me, I think I have made it a bit notorious. Now there is a Mr. Bundercombe and his daughter, who live out in a far-western State of America, who've never been out of their own country, and who are never likely to set foot on this side. She's a pretty little girl--just like Eve might be; and he's a big, handsome fellow--just like me. So we'll borrow their names if you don't mind." "You can come without a name at all, so long as you come," was my final decision as I took my leave. CHAPTER VI--THE PARTY AT THE MILAN