Mr Bevan, who was trying to stiffen his lip and appear very formal, had taken his seat on a low chair which made him feel dwarfed and ridiculous. He had also, unfortunately, left his hat on the table some yards away, and so had nothing with which to occupy his hands; he was, therefore, entirely at the mercy of Miss Lambert, who had taken an armchair near by, and was now chattering to him with the familiarity, almost, of a sister. "It seems so fortunate, you know," said she suddenly, discarding a discussion about the weather. "It seems so fortunate that idea of mine of speaking to Mr Hancock. I hate fighting with people, but father _loves_ it; he'd fight with himself, I think, if he could find no one else, and still, if you knew him, he's the sweetest-tempered person in the world, he is, he would do anything for anybody, he would lay his life down for a friend. But you will know him now, now that that terrible affair about the fish stream is settled." Mr Bevan swallowed rapidly and cast frantic glances at his hat. Had Miss Lambert been of the ordinary type of girl he might possibly have intimated that the fish stream business was not so settled as she supposed, but with this sweet-tongued and friendly beauty, it was impossible. He felt deeply exasperated at the false position in which he found himself, and was endeavouring to prepare some reply of a non-committal character when, of a sudden, his eye caught a direful sight, which for a moment made him forget both fish stream and false position--the little boot of Miss Lambert peeping from beneath her skirt was old and broken. "I would not deny him anything, goodness knows," continued Fanny Lambert, as if she were talking of a child. "But this action _costs_ such a lot, and there are so many people he could fight cheaply with if he wants to," she broke into an enchanting little laugh. "I think, really, it's the expense that makes him think so much of it; he has a horror of cheap things." "Cheap things are never much good," conceded Mr Bevan, upon whose mind a dreadful sort of imbecility had now fallen, his will cried out frantically to his intellect for help, and received none. Here had he come to demand explanations, to put his foot down--alas! what is the will of man beside the beauty of a woman? "That's what father says," said Fanny. "But as for me, I love them, that is to say bargains, you know." The door burst open and a sort of poodle walked in, he was not exactly Russian and not exactly French, he had points of an Irish water-spaniel. Bevan gazed at him and marvelled. Having inspected the pattern of the visitor's trousers, and seeming therewith content Boy-Boy--such was his name--flung himself on the floor and into sleep beside his mistress. "He sleeps all day," said Fanny, "and I wish he wouldn't, for he spends the whole night barking and rushing after the cats in the garden. Isn't he just like a door mat, and doesn't he snore?" "He certainly does."