Regina was obviously indignant at the exclusion of her husband. She replied that her cousin's remembrance of their childhood was "quite touching." This was underlined. "But though I fully understand that Toto's presence would spoil your romantic plan, I cannot pretend to forget that I am now a wife, Conrad." Conrad was perturbed. He drove to Regent's Park and showed the letter to Nina, and she said that her sister couldn't forget she was a wife, because she had married a remote relation of Lord Polpero's. "They have stayed at the 'Abbey,' my dear; at least she tells me they have as often as she condescends to dine with us--Regent's Park is 'so far away' from their poky little place in Mayfair! She can just call it 'Mayfair' without getting a remonstrance from the postal authorities. An 'Abbey' has been too much for her. Of course Polpero is a pauper, and the Abbey's a wreck, but I believe she slept with the family-tree over her bed. It's about the only tree of Polpero's that the woodman has spared, but 'Gina feels Norman." Conrad was still perturbed. He hastened to appease Regina, and moderating his desires, implored "Toto" to spare her to him just for a week or two. "Toto" said promptly that to spend a couple of months at Sweetbay was exactly what she needed for her cough. So she was won, and there remained only Ted to conquer. As a young professional man with nothing to do, Ted had naturally been slow to answer the letter. Young professional men make a point of delaying a long time before they answer letters--it shows how busy they are. After they have plenty of work on hand they answer more quickly. When he wrote, he declared that the notion of renewing their boyish memories in such tranquil quarters appealed to him more forcibly than he could say, but he was "so terribly hard pressed that he feared he would get no change until he ran over to Monte Carlo at the end of the term." He was at the Bar, waiting for briefs. Conrad called at his chambers, and bore him off to dinner. Ted was fortunately independent of his profession, and his immutable purpose was to convince people that it was wearing him to death. In the restaurant he bent over his melon a brow corrugated by the cares of imaginary suits; he frowned at his soup through a monacle as if he were perpending an "Opinion." But it was a dinner of supreme excellence, and then they adjourned to the club. If it had not been Ted's club too, and socially undistinguished, Conrad might have aspired to greater favours now. Invite a man to a club for which he is ineligible himself, and he will remember you with kindliness no less often than he drawls, "A fellow was telling me in Brooks's the other day--" Before they parted, Ted had consented quite cheerfully--for the later Ted--and all was well.