This important person spoke, when she did speak, with a scarcely perceptible French accent in a fine clear voice. But she spoke little and said practically nothing: which was a shock to Marian Prohack, who had imagined that in the circles graced by Lady Massulam conversation varied from badinage to profundity and never halted. It was not that Lady Massulam was tongue-tied, nor that she was impolite; it was merely that with excellent calmness she did not talk. If anybody handed her a subject, she just dropped it; the floor around her was strewn with subjects. The lunch was dreadful, socially. It might have been better if Charlie's family had not been tormented by the tremendous question: what had Charlie to do with Lady Massulam? Already Charlie's situation was sufficient of a mystery, without this arch-mystery being spread all over it. And inexperienced Charlie was a poor host; as a host he was positively pathetic, rivalling Lady Massulam in taciturnity. Sissie took to chaffing her brother, and after a time Charlie said suddenly, with curtness: "Have you dropped that silly dance-scheme of yours, kid?" Sissie was obliged to admit that she had. "Then I tell you what you might do. You might come and live here with me for a bit. I want a hostess, you know." "I will," said Sissie, straight. No consultation of parents! This brief episode overset Mrs. Prohack. The lunch worsened, to such a point that Mr. Prohack began to grow light-hearted, and chaffed Charlie in his turn. He found material for chaff in the large number of newly bought books that were lying about the room. There was even the _Encyclopaedia of Religion and Ethics_ in eleven volumes. Queer possessions for a youth who at home had never read aught but the periodical literature of automobilism! Could this be the influence of Lady Massulam? Then the telephone bell rang, and it was like a signal of salvation. Charlie sprang at the instrument. "For you," he said, indicating Lady Massulam, who rose. "Oh!" said she. "It's Ozzie." "Who's Ozzie?" Charlie demanded, without thought. "No doubt Oswald Morfey," said Mr. Prohack, scoring over his son. "He wants to see me. May I ask him to come up for coffee?" "Oh! Do!" said Sissie, also without thought. She then blushed. Mr. Prohack thought suspiciously and apprehensively: "I bet anything he's found out that my daughter is here."