"She's out," said Dot. "Boats?" "Right-o. Gorgeous," said Luke. * * * * * Normally dinner was at half-past seven. But Mabel did not get back till a quarter to eight. It was eight o'clock before they began. Mabel offered no explanation beyond saying that there really had been a great deal of architectural detail to examine. Luke had prepared a series of six pleasant and gratifying things to say about Mr. Doom Dagshaw and the Mammoth Circus. He found himself absolutely unable to say any of them. He could say other things. He could say "Windmill, watermill" ten times over, very quickly, without a mistake. But somehow he could not say Mammoth Circus. Well, at any rate, he might be bright and amusing. At this time it was customary--perhaps too customary--to ask if you had read a certain book by a certain author, the name of the author being artfully arranged so as to throw some light on the title of the book. Luke remembered three of these which had been told him at the office. Unfortunately they were all of them far too improper for general use. So he just said any bright thing that came into his mind. Mabel looked very tired. She admitted she was tired. She said she had walked about a thousand miles. "And then I come back to this kind of thing," she said. The rest of the dinner, which was brief, passed in complete silence. Then Mabel went into the drawing-room, and Luke remained behind and lit a cigarette. "This will never do," he said to himself. "I must keep it up. I must be pleasant. I must say number one of those six sentences about Doom Dagshaw and the Mammoth Circus, even it if splits my palate and my tongue drops out." He threw down his cigarette, walked firmly into the drawing-room, and closed the door. "Mabel," he said, "I hope you enjoyed your visit to the Doom Circus with Mr. Mammoth Dagshaw." Mabel looked up coldly from the book she was reading. "Back again already?" she said. "Well, what was it you were saying?" "I was saying," said Luke gaily, "that I hoped you enjoyed your visit to the Dammoth Circus with Mr. Dag Moomshaw." "Port never did agree with you," said Mabel. "You shouldn't take it." She resumed her book. Luke tried the second of the pleasant sentences. "Dagshaw always seems to me to be one of those masterful men who sooner or later----" He ducked his head just in time, and the book which Mabel had thrown knocked over the vase of flowers behind him. "If you can't let me read in peace," she said, "at any rate, you shan't sneer at my friends. You're always doing it, and everybody notices it. I simply can't understand you. You're like nothing on earth. What have you done with that love-letter of yours?" "Oh, come," he said, "I've had no love letter." "You silly liar; I mean the letter from your Lady Tyburn. Have you been kissing it?" "Really, Mabel, this is absurd. I might as well ask you if you have been kissing the Mammoth Circus."