The "old lady" thus delicately referred to--who was herself of opinion that she was still very far from being old--cast at her son such a glance that he became immediately conscious that compliance with Miss Lorraine's request was altogether out of the question. He ingeniously shirked it. "Won't you have some tea? You must be tired--you came by an earlier train than we expected." "That's how it turned out. I'll tell you how it was. This dress, you see, that I've got on, it isn't my own, it belongs to a lady who's a friend of mine. I asked her to lend it to me directly I knew I was coming down here, and she said she would; but we're not the same figures, you know, and I knew it'd want a good bit of altering, taking in here and letting out there; your friends'll understand how sometimes one lady's dress has to be pulled about before it can be got to fit another, and I thought it wouldn't be finished before the train I told you of. But it turned out after all that there wasn't so much difference in our waists as I'd supposed, she was only three-quarters of an inch--" Frank made a gallant effort to curtail what bade fair to be some extremely intimate personal details. "Did you say you'd have some tea?" "I didn't say anything about it, that I know of. I can't say that I care for tea, not as a general rule; but I don't mind having a drop if there's nothing better going. Hullo, where's the old lady off to?--and the old chap I mistook for you?" The "old lady" and the "old chap" were Lady Pickard and General Taylor. The pair were making a dash for cover. "Why, they're all going!" They all were. Following her ladyship's lead the entire company was showing a disposition to seek safety in flight. Frank stammered an explanation. "You see, they had their tea before you came; I expect they've all got something to do." Miss Lorraine feigned indifference, even if she felt it not. "Oh, they can go for all I care. It makes no odds to me. If my company isn't good enough for them I'm sure I don't want to keep 'em. Besides, if we're left alone it'll give you a chance to say some of those pretty things which are nearly dropping off the tip of your tongue. I say, Frankie, don't you think I'm looking simply sweet?" What "Frankie" answered the chronicles do not state. CHAPTER IV "Frank, is this an intentional outrage of which you have been guilty? Or is it an insolent practical joke which you have planned to play at the expense of your mother's friends?" For the first time in his life Frank Pickard saw his mother really angry. Of the reality of her anger, as he confronted her in her boudoir, to which he had ascended in obedience to an urgent summons, there could be no doubt. He was conscious that her anger was justified. He was ready enough to admit it. "It is neither, mother. Only--I don't understand." "What don't you understand?"