I might still be in time to vindicate Harold's character. At Euston, to my surprise, I was met not only by my dear cantankerous old lady, but also by my friend, the magnificent Maharajah, dressed this time in a frock-coat and silk hat of Bond Street glossiness. 'What has brought you to England?' I asked, astonished. 'The Jubilee?' He smiled, and showed his two fine rows of white teeth. 'That, nominally. In reality, the cricket season (I play for Berks). But most of all, to see dear Tillington safe through this trouble.' 'He's a brick!' Lady Georgina cried with enthusiasm. 'A regular brick, my dear Lois! His carriage is waiting outside to take you up to my house. He has stood by Harold--well, like a Christian!' 'Or a Hindu,' the Maharajah corrected, smiling. 'And how have you been all this time, dear Lady Georgina?' I asked, hardly daring to inquire about what was nearest to my soul--Harold. The cantankerous old lady knitted her brows in a familiar fashion. 'Oh, my dear, don't ask: I haven't known a happy hour since you left me in Switzerland. Lois, I shall never be happy again without you! It would pay me to give you a retaining fee of a thousand a year--honour bright, it would, I assure you. What I've suffered from the Gretchens since you've been in the East has only been equalled by what I've suffered from the Mary Annes and the Celestines. Not a hair left on my scalp; not one hair, I declare to you. They've made my head into a _tabula rasa_ for the various restorers. George R. Sims and Mrs. S. A. Allen are going to fight it out between them. My dear, I wish _you_ could take my maid's place; I've always said----' I finished the speech for her. 'A lady can do better whatever she turns her hand to than any of these hussies.' She nodded. 'And why? Because her hands _are_ hands; while as for the Gretchens and the Mary Annes, "paws" is the only word one can honestly apply to them. Then, on top of it all comes this trouble about Harold. So distressing, isn't it? You see, at the point which the matter has reached, it's simply impossible to save Harold's reputation without wrecking Southminster's. Pretty position that for a respectable family! The Ashursts hitherto have been _quite_ respectable: a co-respondent or two, perhaps, but never anything serious. Now, either Southminster sends Harold to prison, or Harold sends Southminster. There's a nice sort of dilemma! I always knew Kynaston's boys were born fools; but to find they're born knaves, too, is hard on an old woman in her hairless dotage. However, _you've_ come, my child, and _you'll_ soon set things right. You're the one person on earth I can trust in this matter.'