Gordon seated himself very carefully, put down his glossy silk hat on the table and slowly stripped his gloves. “Robert, I’m rather in a tangle and I want you to help me out.” “It can’t be money--it must be love. Who is she?” “It is neither money nor love,” retorted Gordon with some asperity. “It is ... well, a delicate matter.” Bobbie whistled, and a whistle can be very offensive. “I’m going to tell you the facts.” Gordon had to struggle with himself; he was on the point of inventing an excuse for calling and making a hasty retreat. “Is it about Diana?” “No, it _isn’t_ about Diana,” snapped the elder. “Diana has nothing whatever to do with it. It is like this--old man....” The “old man” sobered Bobbie. It showed that his brother was not his normal self. So he listened without interruption to the lamest story he had ever heard; to the most transparent invention that had yet been displayed for the scorn of sceptic. “Who is Mrs. van Oynne?” he asked at last. “She’s ... well, I don’t want to discuss her. I met her at a conversazione of the Theosophical Society. She’s rather ... wonderful.” “I should say so,” said Bobbie drily. “Of course you won’t go?” It needed but this piece of assurance to decide Gordon. “Of course I _shall_ go,” he said firmly. “I need the change; I need the intellectual recreation.” “But why go to Ostend to discuss souls? What’s the matter with Battersea Park?” insisted Bobbie. “It’s the most lunatic idea I have heard! And of course, if you’re spotted in Ostend your name for henceforth and everlasting will be Waste Product Esquire. I suppose you’re telling the truth. From any other man I wouldn’t think twice about it; I’d know that it was a clumsy lie. Have you thought of Diana?” A staggering question: Gordon was taken aback. “I don’t see how this affects Diana. What the dickens has she got to do with it?” “She’s an inmate of your house,” said Bobbie, in a serious mood. “Any reflection upon your good name is a reflection upon hers.” “She can leave--I wish to heaven she would leave!” retorted Gordon viciously. “You don’t imagine that I intend allowing the possibility of Diana knowing to stand in my way? She is an interloper--in a way I despise her. She’s hateful to me sometimes. Are you going to help me or aren’t you?” He flung the ultimatum across the table. Bobbie elected for peace. “I don’t suppose I shall have to wire to you much,” he said. “Nothing is likely to turn up in your absence. What are you going to tell Diana?” Mr. Selsbury closed his eyes wearily. “Does it matter what I tell Diana?” A brave question. In his heart he knew that a story must be invented, and a very plausible story. “I’m not a particularly nimble liar,” he said. “Think out something for me.” Bobbie sniffed. “I am on my knees to you for the compliment,” he said, but irony was wasted on Gordon. “Why not tell her you are going north for the shooting?”