"Mrs. Bundercombe," I said, leaning over the table, "your husband during his stay in London plunged freely into the Bohemian life of our city. I will answer for it that he did so simply in pursuance of that hobby of which we all know. I am convinced----" "Paul," Mrs. Bundercombe interrupted, her voice if possible a little more nasal even than usual, "will you fetch Mr. Bundercombe here, or must I rise from my seat in a public place and remove him myself from--from that hussy?" I appealed to Eve. "Eve," I begged, "please reason with your stepmother. There are certain situations in life that can be faced in one way only. Mrs. Bundercombe will no doubt have a few words to say to her husband on his return. Let her keep them until then." "Paul is right!" Eve declared. "Do take our advice!" she continued, turning to her stepmother. "Let us eat our luncheon quite calmly. I am perfectly certain dad will have some very good reason to give for his presence here with that young lady." Mrs. Bundercombe rose to her feet. I hastened to follow her example. We stood confronting one another. "It is either you or I, Paul!" she insisted. "Then it had better be myself," I groaned. I deposited my napkin on the table and made my way toward Mr. Bundercombe. I smiled pleasantly at him and bowed apologetically toward his companion. "Sorry," I said under my breath, "but I am afraid Mrs. Bundercombe means to make trouble!" Mr. Bundercombe looked at me with a gloriously blank expression. His manner was not without dignity. "I regret to hear," he replied, "that any person by the name of Mrs. Bundercombe is looking for trouble. I scarcely see, however, how I am concerned in the matter. You have the advantage of me, sir!" I stared at him and stooped a little lower. "She's tearing mad!" I whispered. "You don't want a scene. Couldn't you make an excuse and slip away?" Mr. Bundercombe frowned at me. He glanced at the young lady as though seeking for some explanation. "Is this young gentleman known to you, Miss Blanche?" he inquired. She set down her glass and shook her head. "Never saw him before in my life!" she declared. "What's worrying him?" "Hitherto," Mr. Bundercombe said, "my somewhat unusual personal appearance has kept me from an adventure of this sort, but I clearly understand that I am now being mistaken for some one else. Your references to a Mrs. Bundercombe, sir, are Greek to me. My name is Parker--Mr. Joseph H. Parker." "Do you mean to keep this up?" I protested. Mr. Bundercombe beckoned to the _maitre d'hotel_ who came hastily to his side. "Do you know this gentleman?" he asked. The _maitre d'hotel_ bowed. "Certainly, sir," he answered, with a questioning glance toward me. "This is Mr. Walmsley."