"Dear me, dear me, this is a beastly muddle! Look here, George, promise me you won't do anything stupid for a day or so.... I have been so pestered by people ... I don't know which way to turn. Why not stay and meet your aunt?" "Because I might lose my temper with _her_." "Ah, well, she _is_ somewhat trying when it comes to family matters. Still, I may tell her----" "That she ought to mind her own business? By all means. And oblige me, too, by telling her that she would confer a boon on humanity if she persuaded Lady Porthcawl to go to--Jericho--or Tokio--or wherever that ass, Porthcawl, may happen to be." "Millicent Porthcawl was at Bournemouth, you know." "Yes, I spoke to her. She had the impudence to introduce Ducrot to Cynthia." "By gad! Did she, though? I heard something from Scarland about that affair. Well, well--there's no accounting for tastes. I suppose you realize, George, that I am keeping back a good deal of the tittle-tattle which reached me during your absence. I don't want to hurt your feelings----" "Thank you. The absurdity of the present position lies in the fact that I shall have all my work cut out to hold your wrath against these people within bounds when once you have met Cynthia." "Oh, I have no doubt she is pretty, and fascinating, and all that sort of thing," growled the Earl, in a grudging access of good humor. "Confound it, that is why we are putty in their hands, George. Don't forget I've had fifty-five years of 'em. Gad! I could tell you things--all right, let us chuck the dispute for the time. Shall I see you at dinner?" "Yes--if you are alone." "There will be no women. I'll take devilish good care of that. Scarland is in town for the show, and he is bringing Sir Ashley Stoke, but Betty is nursing a youngster through the measles. Good Lord! I'm glad your aunt didn't get hold of Betty!"