“I was just wondering whether I should give you up,” he said. “The hour that you named for lunch was half-past one. And I have almost forgotten what your clock sounded like when it struck two.” This also seemed to matter very little. “Did I ask you to lunch?” he said. “I really quite forgot; I can’t even remember doing it now.” “But there will be lunch?” asked Francis rather anxiously. “Of course. It’ll be ready in ten minutes.” Michael came and stood in front of the fire, and looked with a sudden spasm of envy on the handsome boy who lay there. If he himself had been anything like that --“I was distinctly chippy this morning,” remarked Francis, “and so I didn’t so much mind waiting for lunch. I attribute it to too much beer and bacon last night at your friend’s house. I enjoyed it--I mean the evening, and for that matter the bacon--at the time. It really was extremely pleasant.” He yawned largely and openly. “I had no idea you could frolic like that, Mike,” he said. “It was quite a new light on your character. How did you learn to do it? It’s quite a new accomplishment.” Here again the veil was drawn. Was it last night only that Falbe had played the Variations, and that they had acted charades? Francis proceeded in bland unconsciousness. “I didn’t know Germans could be so jolly,” he continued. “As a rule I don’t like Germans. When they try to be jolly they generally only succeed in being top-heavy. But, of course, your friend is half-English. Can’t he play, too? And to think of your having written those ripping tunes. His sister, too--no wonder we haven’t seen much of you, Mike, if that’s where you’ve been spending your time. She’s rather like the new girl at the Gaiety, but handsomer. I like big girls, don’t you? Oh, I forgot, you don’t like girls much, anyhow. But are you learning your mistake, Mike? You looked last night as if you were getting more sensible.” Michael moved away impatiently. “Oh, shut it, Francis,” he observed. Francis raised himself on his elbow. “Why, what’s up?” he asked. “Won’t she turn a favourable eye?” Michael wheeled round savagely. “Please remember you are talking about a lady, and not a Gaiety lady,” he remarked. This brought Francis to his feet. “Sorry,” he said. “I was only indulging in badinage until lunch was ready.” Michael could not make up his mind to tell his cousin what had happened; but he was aware of having spoken more strongly than the situation, as Francis knew of it, justified. “Let’s have lunch, then,” he said. “We shall be better after lunch, as one’s nurse used to say. And are you coming to Ashbridge, Francis?” “Yes; I’ve been talking to Aunt Bar about it this morning. We’re both coming; the family is going to rally round you, Mike, and defend you from Uncle Robert. There’s sure to be some duck shooting, too, isn’t there?” This was a considerable relief to Michael.