The curate choked, then glowed with gentle gratification. He realised that he had come face to face at last with one of the Smart Set, of which one heard so much nowadays. "The naughty boy," concluded the fond mother, "must have missed his train." "The naughty boy," replied Mrs. Carmyle, "is probably coming down by the four-fifteen. It is a much better train. Mr. Rylands, will you please choose me a nice heavy crumpet?" "In that case," said Lady Adela, "he will probably be here in about half an hour. Sylvia dear, will you go upstairs and see if Constance’s room is ready? I forgot to give orders about a fire." Sylvia obediently disappeared, and Lady Adela crossed the hall to a chair under a lamp, where her husband was furtively perusing the evening paper. Mr. Mainwaring was now favoured with a brief but masterly display of the fast dying art of pantomime, from which he gathered without any difficulty whatever that he was to remove himself and Mr. Rylands to another part of the house, and that right speedily. Mr. Mainwaring coughed submissively, and rose. "Mr. Rylands, will you come and smoke a cigarette with me?" he said. "Second Chronicles?" remarked Connie’s clear voice. "I shall look it up during the sermon to-morrow." The Archdeacon’s emissary had unburdened his soul at last. Lady Adela extended a stately hand. "Good-bye, Mr. Rylands," she said. "My husband insists on carrying you off to the smoking-room." Mr. Rylands, by this time hopelessly enmeshed in Connie Carmyle’s net, sprang guiltily to his feet. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" he exclaimed. "Good-bye! Good-bye, Mrs. Carmyle!" He shook hands, gathered together his impedimenta, and hurried blindly up the staircase. "Remember I am coming to hear you preach to-morrow," Connie called after him, with a dazzling smile. "Morning or evening?" The godly but mesmerised youth halted, and broke out afresh. "I am preaching at Evensong," he began, "but--" "This way, Mr. Rylands," said Lady Adela patiently, indicating her husband, who was standing by a swing door at the opposite side of the hall. Mr. Rylands, utterly confounded, pattered headlong downstairs again, and disappeared with Mr. Mainwaring, still apologising. Lady Adela tapped Connie playfully but heavily upon the cheek. ("_Like being tickled by a mastodon_" wrote that lady to her husband a short time later.) "Constance dear," she said, with a reproving smile, "you are incorrigible. Now let us sit down and have a cosy chat." The incorrigible one sat submissively down upon the sofa and waited. She knew that her hostess had not rendered the hall a solitude for nothing. Presently the cosy chat began. Not too suddenly, though. Lady Adela first enquired after the health of Mr. Carmyle, and expressed regret that he had been prevented from accompanying his wife to The Towers.