Once more a motor-horn sounded, and the Lucases’ car drew up at the gate of The Hurst. There stepped out Mrs. Garroby-Ashton, followed by the weird bright thing which had called to take Lucia to the private view of the Post-Cubists. Georgie had not time for the moment to rack his brain as to the name he had forgotten, for observation was his primary concern, and next he saw Lord Limpsfield, whom he had met at Olga’s party. Finally there emerged a tall, slim, middle-aged man in Oxford trousers, for whom Georgie instantly conceived a deep distrust. He had thick auburn hair, for he wore no hat, and he waved his hands about in a silly manner as he talked. Over his shoulder was a little cape. Then Lucia came tripping out of the house with her short skirts and her shingles, and they all chattered together, and kissed and squealed, and pointed in different directions, and moved up the garden into the house. The door was shut, and the end of Robert’s brass telescope withdrawn. * * * * * Hardly had these shameful events occurred when Georgie’s telephone bell rang. It might be Daisy wanting to compare notes, but it might be Lucia asking him to tea. He felt torn in half at the idea; carnal curiosity urged him with clamour to go, dignity dissuaded him. Still halting between two opinions, he went toward the instrument, which continued ringing. He felt sure now that it was Lucia, and what on earth was he to say? He stood there so long that Foljambe came hurrying into the room, in case he had gone out. “See who it is, Foljambe,” he said. Foljambe with amazing calm took off the receiver. “Trunk call,” she said. He glued himself to the instrument, and soon there came a voice he knew. “No! Is it you?” he asked. “What is it?” “I’m motoring down to-morrow morning,” said Olga, “and Princess Isabel is probably coming with me, though she is not absolutely certain. But expect her, unless I telephone to-morrow. Be a darling and give us lunch, as we shall be late, and come and dine. Terrible hurry: good-bye.” “No, you must wait a minute,” screamed Georgie. “Of course I’ll do that, but I must tell you, Lucia’s just come with a party from London and hasn’t asked any of us.” “No!” said Olga. “Then don’t tell her I’m coming. She’s become such a bore. She asks me to lunch and dinner every day. How thrilling though, Georgie! Whom has she got?” Suddenly the name of the weird bright female came back to Georgie. “Mrs. Alingsby,” he said. “Lor!” said Olga. “Who else?” “Mrs. Garroby-Ashton----” “What?” “Garr-o-by Ash-ton,” said Georgie very distinctly; “and Lord Limpsfield. And a tall man in Oxford trousers with auburn hair.” “It sounds like your double, Georgie,” said Olga. “And a little cape like yours?” “Yes,” said Georgie rather coldly. “I think it must be Stephen Merriall,” said Olga after a pause. “And who’s that?” asked he. “Lucia’s lover,” said Olga quite distinctly. “No!” said Georgie.