“_You_ will lift the fog. I preach Peace with Honour. This is your chance to give an admiring world an object lesson. I am speaking, of course, of this strike in your household, of your decision about Prudence and Alfred. That decision will become the talk of the countryside. With the rare exception of half a dozen potentates like yourself, public opinion will range itself with the young people. Now, believe me, such authority as you exercise with absolute sincerity and good faith is being indicated all over the kingdom. You know that, and deplore it. So do I. But—there we are! And if that authority is sustained—this is my little point—it must give way under certain irresistible pressure—_reculer pour mieux sauter_! Send for this nice-looking pair, rebuke them fittingly for any slight impertinence, and then forgive them handsomely. Place the responsibility of marriage upon them. Ease yourself of the odium of preventing such a marriage. Such a gallant recognition of the rights of others will endear you to your people. Now, forgive me for speaking my mind.” Lady Pomfret wondered whether her little ladyship had spoken all her mind. Was she pleading indirectly for Lionel and Joyce? How clever of her to leave them out! She glanced at her husband, frowning and ill at ease. What were his thoughts? He said heavily: “You mean well, my dear, and I thank you. What you have said will receive my due consideration.” “Je ne demande que ça!” She swept him a curtesy, and then turned to Lady Pomfret. Her voice softened delightfully: “You have been sweet to me. Thank you for your gracious hospitality. I hate kissing, but may I kiss you?” She bent down and kissed the softly tinted cheek. Lady Pomfret answered tremulously: “Perhaps another visit, at a happier time, will make you forget what has passed.” Margot held out her hand to Sir Geoffrey. “Good-bye, Sir Geoffrey. You have a charming son. If you will give him my love, I don’t think he will misunderstand me.” Sir Geoffrey stood erect, very impassive. “I will see you to your car.” “As a favour to me—don’t! I disturbed you just now. Let me pop off quietly. _Au revoir!_” Half protesting, he consented, opening the door for her to pass out. She blew another kiss to Lady Pomfret, just before she vanished. The Squire came back to his wife, who was reflecting that her visitor had a knack at exits and entrances. “Rather a spoiled beauty,” growled the Squire. “These London girls are all alike. I thought she looked scraggy, Mary. Thin blood—thin blood. An uncle died in an asylum.” “Heavens! You never told me.” The Squire glanced at the clock. “Now, my dear, Ben is almost due. Tackle—him.” “What can I say? What _can_ I say?” “Make him see himself, as you see him.” Lady Pomfret became alert. Her eyes sparkled as she repeated reflectively: “As I see him?” The Squire answered trenchantly: