“Ask Mr. Bannister if he would spare me a minute,” he said. Bannister appeared as spherical and red-cheeked as ever. “Things are disgraceful to-night,” Sir Richard said. “I must beg you, Mr. Bannister, to see to it.” Bannister was gently apologetic. The cook should be spoken to, it was abominable; meanwhile was there anything that he could get for Sir Richard? No? He was sorry. He bowed to the ladies and withdrew. “It’s abominable—this kind of thing. And Tony? Why, it’s quarter to nine; what does he mean? It’s always happening. Are these people he knows in the town?” He looked at his wife. “I really don’t know, dear. I expect that he’s met people down there; it’s probable. But I shouldn’t worry, dear. I’ll speak to him.” She looked across at Alice. “What were you saying about Mrs. Romanes, dear? I used to know her a long while ago; I don’t suppose she would remember me now.” Maradick had a miserable feeling that she blamed him for all this. If he had only looked after Tony and stayed with him this would never have happened. But he couldn’t be expected to stay with Tony always. After all, the boy was old enough to look after himself; it was absurd. Only, just now perhaps it would have been wiser. He saw that Mrs. Lester was smiling. She was probably amused at the whole affair. Suddenly at the farther end of the room some one came in. It was Tony. Maradick held his breath. He looked so perfectly charming as he stood there, recognising, with a kind of sure confidence, the “touch” that was necessary to carry the situation through. He could see, of course, that it _was_ a situation, but whether he recognised the finer shades of everyone’s feeling about it—the separate, individual way that they were all taking it, so that Alice’s point of view and his mother’s point of view and Maradick’s point of view were all, really, at the opposite ends of the pole as far as seeing the thing went—that was really the important question. They all were needing the most delicate handling, and, in fact, from this moment onwards the “fat” was most hopelessly in the fire and the whole business was rolling “tub-wise” down ever so many sharp and precipitous hills. But he stood there, looking down at them, most radiantly happy. His hair was still wet from his bath, and his tie was a little out of place because he had dressed in a hurry, and he smiled at them all, taking them, as it were, into his heart and scolding them for being so foolishly inquisitive, and, after it all, letting them no further into his confidence. He knew, of course, exactly how to treat his father; his mother was more difficult, but he could leave her until afterwards. To Sir Richard’s indignant “Well?” he answered politely, but with a smile and a certain hurried breathlessness to show that he had taken trouble.