The serious individual waited until the steward had left the room, then he closed the door. “Gentlemen,” he continued, “I will not recur to the painful incident which happened at the dinner-table to-night further than by asking you, as honourable men, to think of Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling’s position of great responsibility. She stands in the place of a mother to a number of young ladies who, for the first time in their lives, have left their homes.” “Lord pity them,” said somebody, who was sitting in the corner. The gentleman paid no attention to the remark. “Now what I wish to ask of you is that you will not make Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling’s position any harder by futile endeavours to form the acquaintance of the young ladies.” At this point Stewart Montague broke out. “Who the devil are you, sir, and who gave you the right to interfere?” “As to who I am,” said the gentleman, quietly, “my name is Kensington, and—” “West or South?” asked the man in the corner. At this there was a titter of laughter. “My name is Kensington,” repeated the gentleman, “and I have been asked by Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling to interfere, which I do very reluctantly. As I said at the beginning, I hope you will not think my interference is impertinent. I only do so at the earnest request of the lady I have mentioned, because I am a family man myself, and I understand and sympathise with the lady in the responsibility which she has assumed.” “It seems to me,” said the man in the corner, “that if the ‘dragon’ has assumed responsibilities and they have not been thrust upon her, which I understand they have not, then she must take the responsibility of the responsibilities which she has assumed. Do I make myself clear?” “Gentlemen,” said Mr. Kensington, “it is very painful for me to speak with you upon this subject. I feel that what I have so clumsily expressed may not be correctly understood; but I appeal to your honour as gentlemen, and I am sure I will not appeal in vain when I ask you not to make further effort towards the acquaintance of the young ladies, because all that you can succeed in doing will be to render their voyage unpleasant to themselves, and interrupt, if not seriously endanger, the good feeling which I understand has always existed between Mrs. Scrivener-Yapling and her _protégées_.” “All right,” said the man in the corner. “Have a drink, Mr. Kensington?” “Thank you, I never drink,” answered Mr. Kensington. “Have a smoke, then?” “I do not smoke either, thank you all the same for your offer. I hope, gentlemen, you will forgive my intrusion on you this evening. Good night.” “Impudent puppy,” said Stewart Montague, as he closed the door behind him. But in this we did not agree with him, not even the man in the corner. “He is perfectly right,” said that individual, “and I believe that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves. It will only make trouble, and I for one am going to give up the hunt.”