And at twelve o’clock he came running to Penelope and Chloe by the river-bank in wild excitement. "I say, Pen, I say, Pen, there’s old Goby coming, and with that miserable rotter who makes poetry. What’s brought ’em here?" "I asked them to lunch," said Pen. "Eh, what?" cried Bob. "Goby and that rotter, Austin de Vere! I say, Mr. Guthrie—" He ran off to Guthrie, bawling: "I say, Mr. Guthrie, here’s that poet chap, Austin de Vere, come. Didn’t you say he mostly wrote rot?" And Goby and De Vere came across the lawn together, like a mastiff and a Maltese in company. They made each other as nervous as cats, and couldn’t for their lives understand why they were asked together. "The clumsy brute," said De Vere. "The verse-making monkey," said Goby. But tailors could have admired them both. They were perfect. And lunch was a most painful function, only endurable to Penelope because she was on the track of her duty, and to Chloe because she laughed internally, and to Mr. Guthrie (who was really a clever man) because he liked to study men and manners, and to Bob because he talked all the time, owing to the silence of the others. "I say, Captain Goby, I’ve got a splendid bull-pup. Baker got him for me, cheap, for a quid,—a sovereign, I mean. You remember Baker. He was a sergeant,—oh, I told you that just now. Do you like bulldogs, Mr. de Vere?" De Vere was politely sulky. "Bulldogs, oh, ah, well, I do not know that I do." He looked at Goby, who was also sulky and feeling very much out of it. But the subject of bulldogs appealed to him, because he saw it didn’t amuse his rival. "I’ll give you a real good pup, Bob," he said, good-naturedly; "one that no one could get for a sovereign. "A real pedigree pup?" "With a pedigree as long as your own," said Goby. Bob sighed, and laid his hand on Goby’s. "I say, Pen, isn’t Captain Goby a real good ’un?" he asked. "Baker says—" But what Baker said does not come into this history, as the lunch finished, and they all went into the garden. Goby spoke to Bob as they went out. "I say, Bob, get hold of that ass De Vere, and talk to him as hard as the very deuce, will you?" "You meant that about the pup?" said Bob. "Of course, Bob." "I’ll talk his beastly head off," said Bob. And this was why Penelope spoke confidentially to Captain Goby before she did so to the poet. She was exceedingly pale and very dignified, but she lost no time in getting to the point. "Captain Goby," she said, "you have asked me to marry you at least three times." Goby sighed. "Is it only three?" he demanded, and he added, firmly, "it will be more yet." "And I said ’no’ because I had no idea of marrying any one." "That was rot," said Goby. "For, if you married no one else, you would marry me." "Certainly not as you are," retorted Penelope. "I want you and all men (that I know) to reform." Goby was not astonished at anything Penelope said.