'Charles, how nice of you to call and return your own visit the same day! It's like Royalty, isn't it? It reminds me of the young man who was asked to call again, and came back in half an hour,' said Hyacinth. 'I didn't quite see my way to waiting till Monday,' he answered. 'We're going away the end of the week. Janet says she needs a change.' 'It would be more of a change if you remained in town alone; at least, without Aunty.' From the age of ten Hyacinth had resented having to call Lady Cannon by this endearing name. How a perfect stranger, by marrying her cousin, could become her aunt, was a mystery that she refused even to try to solve. It was well meant, no doubt; it was supposed to make her feel more at home--less of an orphan. But though she was obedient on this point, nothing would ever induce her to call her cousin by anything but his Christian name, with no qualification. Instinctively she felt that to call them 'Charles and Aunty', while annoying the intruder, kept her guardian in his proper place. What that was she did not specify. 'Well, can't you stay in London and come here, and be confided in and consulted? You know you like that better than boring yourself to death at Redlands.' 'Never mind that. How did you enjoy your drive?' 'Immensely, and I've asked both the little Ottleys to come to dinner tomorrow--one of those impulsive, unconsidered invitations that one regrets the second after. I must make up a little party. Will you come?' 'Perhaps, if I arranged to follow Janet to Redlands the next day, I might. Who did you say was the other man?' 'I expect Cecil Reeve,' she said. 'Don't put on that air of marble archness, Charles. It doesn't suit you at all. Tell me something about him.' 'I can't stand him. That's all I know about him,' said Sir Charles. 'Oh, is that all? That's just jealousy, Charles.' 'Absurd! How can a married man, in your father's place, a hundred years older than you, be jealous?' 'It is wonderful, isn't it?' she said. 'But you must know something about him. You know everyone.' 'He's Lord Selsey's nephew--and his heir--if Selsey doesn't marry again. He's only a young man about town--the sort of good-looking ass that your sex admires.' 'Charles, what a brute you are! He's very clever.' 'My dear child, yes--as a matter of fact, I believe he is. Isn't he ever going to _do_ something?' 'I don't know,' she said. 'I wish he would. Oh, _why_ don't you like him?' 'What can it matter about me?' he answered. 'Why are you never satisfied unless I'm in love with the same people that you are?' 'Charles!' she exclaimed, standing up. 'Don't you understand that not a word, not a look has passed to suggest such a thing? I never met anyone so--' 'So cautious?' 'No, so listless, and so respectful; and yet so amusing.... But I'm pretty certain that he hates me. I wish I knew why.' 'And you hate him just as much, of course?'