“We—er—know each other by reputation, Mr. Barnes.” “Very kind of you to say so,” said Erb. “When you feel inclined for a cigarette,” said the footman, “give me the tip. What I mean to say is—tip me the wink! They won’t let us smoke here, but we can go into the pantry, or we can take a whiff round the square if you prefer it.” Here the footman giggled, “I often wonder whether ’round the square’ is a correct expression. Find any trouble, may I ask, in choosin’ your language?” “It comes to me pretty free,” said Erb, “if I’m at all ’eated.” “Heated,” corrected Mr. Danks, “heated! Before I went to my uncle’s in Southampton Street, Camberwell, to take lessons, I used to drop ’em like—like anything.” “Never trouble about trifles meself.” “For public men like me and you,” said Mr. Danks. He stopped a giggle, perceiving that what he had thought to be a humorous remark did not, judging from Erb’s expression, really bear that character. “Like me and you,” he went on, “the letter aitch is one of the toughest difficulties that we have to encounter. In my profession, at one time, it was looked on, to use your words, as a trifle. Those times, Mr. Barnes, are gone and done with. The ability to aspirate the letter aitch in the right place—in the _right_ place, mind you—has done more to break down the barriers that separated class from class than any other mortal thing in this blessed world.” “I wonder, now,” said Erb, with some interest, “whether you’re talking rot, or whether there’s something in what you say?” “If you think anything more of it,” said Mr. Danks, feeling in his waistcoat pocket, “take my uncle’s card, and go on and chat it over with him.” “‘Professor of Elocution. Declamation Taught!’” read Erb. “His daughter knows you; heard you speak in Southwark Park.” “Not a lame girl?” “If I hadn’t gone to him,” said Mr. Danks nodding affirmatively, “I should never have known how to recite.” “Nice drawback that would have been. So her name’s Danks?” “Rosalind Danks.” “Rosalind,” repeated Erb thoughtfully. “As it is,” said the other with a giggle of satisfaction, “my ‘King Robert of Sicily’ gets me more invites out than I know what to do with. I suppose your sister has told you all about it.” “Talks of nothing else,” declared Erb inventively. To his surprise, Mr. Danks shook him very warmly by the hand, giggling the while with satisfaction, and, with the remark that he must now do the amiable to the remaining member of the family, left Erb and went across to Louisa—Louisa, flushed and almost attractive looking from the excitement of dancing. Erb calculated the distance between himself and the fair Miss Luker, and, with an attempt to imitate the easy manner of Mr. Danks, lounged across in her direction, but before he reached her three of the young men had formed up defensively, and Erb had to lean clumsily against the wall near to his short sister and her new companion. Mr. Danks had placed a footstool for Louisa.