They lunched in the panelled room beneath Aunt Jerry's drawing-room, Amory and Cosimo on one side of the table facing Miss Crebbin and _her_ young man on the other. Cosimo presently became aware that this was a quite amusing variation of the joke of Jellies, Dorothy, the plumber, etc. It lacked the boisterousness of that day when Mr. Wellcome had thrust him into Amory's arms, but it had a subtle flavour of its own. Cosimo had only one uneasiness, which was that Amory was perhaps not well enough in health to extract the last particle of savour from all this taking-for-granted. She sat next to Mr. Allport, but said little. She ate hungrily of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and quite agreed when Mr. Allport said what "an A1 little pitch Oasthouse View was." Then Mr. Allport talked water-rates and gas-fittings to Mr. Massey. He could be seen making mental notes of fixtures and furniture against the day when he and _his_ young woman should set up together for themselves. He seemed, too, to be advising Cosimo also to be picking up wrinkles in good time. Cosimo was secretly glad that Mr. Wellcome was not there. His robustiousness would have spoiled the quiet and artistic character of the comedy. And again he hoped that Amory was not missing anything. Then the ladies ascended to the drawing-room again, and Mr. Massey, who knew perfectly well everything that the sideboard did and did not contain, pretended to be in doubt, and "thought there _ought_ to be a little port somewhere." He found it, and the three men sat, Mr. Allport again talking of cupboards and drains, but obviously thinking that ... but let Cosimo and Amory tell the rest. "My--dear!" Amory broke out when, at half-past three, they passed the "Doves" again. "Did you _ever_!" Cosimo's light fears that Amory might have missed the delicate comedy had been wasted; Amory was quite her old self again. That, Cosimo thought, was the good meal of roast beef. She bubbled freely, and caught at Cosimo's arm. "My--dear! If _only_ you could have heard the priceless things that were said upstairs!" Cosimo was wondrously bucked by the change in her. "Oh, this is torture--do tell me!" he implored. "Oh, it's beyond words--I don't know where to begin! Aunt Jerry--and that incredible Deschamps woman--and that doll of a girl who's going to love, honour, obey, and all the rest of it!... Have the poor dears an _inkling_ of what it all really means?" "You mean----?" said Cosimo tentatively. "Of course I do--the stupid institution of the Family again! Did George say anything to you? No, I suppose he wouldn't; high-and-mighty man again; quite too superior; hopes that as long as he says nothing he'll be taken for wise, as somebody says. But Aunt Jerry's got it all--oh, perfection hardly describes it!" Lightly she threw up her hands and allowed them to drop again. "_Not_ the old conceptions, of the father as the head of the Family and so on?" Cosimo said incredulously. "_Yes!_"