“I _did_ have two slices. One was before the muffin, while we were waiting for it, and the other was after. And I only remembered the second.” “In that case, dear, we’ve done the waiter an injustice and libelled the hotel.” “I will make it all right if you will allow me,” said Braybrooke almost obsequiously. “I’m well known here. I will explain to the manager, a most charming man.” He turned definitely to face Fanny Cronin. “Miss Van Tuyn asked me to tell you what she wants.” “Indeed! Does she want something?” “No. I mean she told me to ask you what you want.” Miss Cronin looked at Mrs. Clem Hodson, hesitated, and then made a very definite rabbit’s mouth. “I don’t know that I want anything, thank you, Mr. Braybrooke. But if Beryl is going--she is not going?” “I really don’t know exactly.” “She hasn’t finished her tea, perhaps?” “I don’t know for certain. But she asked me to tell you she wasn’t coming back yet”--the two old ladies exchanged glances which Braybrooke longed to contradict--“as she is going to call on Lady Sellingworth presently.” “Ah!” said Mrs. Clem Hodson, gazing steadily at Fanny Cronin. “In Berkeley Square!” added Braybrooke emphatically. “And to-night she is dining out.” “Did she say where?” asked Miss Cronin, slightly moving her ears. “No; she didn’t.” “Thank you,” said Miss Cronin. “Good-bye, Mr. Braybrooke.” She held out her hand like one making a large and difficult concession to her own Christianity. Mrs. Clem Hodson bowed again from the waist and also made a concession. She muttered, “Very glad to have met you!” and then cleared her throat, while the criss-cross of wrinkles moved all over her face. “I will make it all right with the manager,” said Braybrooke, with over-anxious earnestness, and feeling now quite definitely that he must really have proposed to Miss Cronin for Miss Van Tuyn’s hand that afternoon, and that he must have just lied about the disposal of her time until she had to dress for dinner. “The manager?” said Miss Cronin. “What manager?” said Mrs. Clem Hodson. “About the plum cake! Surely you remember?” “Oh--the plum cake!” said Mrs. Hodson, looking steadily at Fanny Cronin. “Thank you very much indeed! Very good of you!” “Thank you,” said Miss Cronin, with a sudden piteous look. “I did eat two slices. Come, Suzanne! Good-bye again, Mr. Braybrooke.” They turned to go out. As Braybrooke watched the musquash slowly vanishing he knew in his bones that, when he did not become engaged to Miss Van Tuyn, Fanny Cronin, till the day of her death, would feel positive that he had proposed to her that afternoon and had been rejected. And he muttered in his beard: “Damn these red-headed old women! I will _not_ make it all right with the manager about the plum cake!” It was a poor revenge, but the only one he could think of at the moment. “Is anything the matter?” asked Miss Van Tuyn when he rejoined her. “Has old Fanny been tiresome?”