All this was said in Mrs. De Flournoy’s most gracious manner to Mr. Waddy, and at him and his friends. She was determined to make a good impression--excessively determined, unfortunately. She wished to signalise her first summer after Europe by great social triumphs and courted everybody, except those whom she could venture to contemn. Still, men at a watering-place are not disposed to reject the advances of pretty women, and Waddy would have been placable, but that he did not care for intimacy with a person who could accept De Châteaunéant as _cicisbeo_, or even acquaintance. He could not forget signs of a complete understanding he had detected between him and the lady. However, Waddy said the civil nothings and Mrs. Budlong went upstairs, followed humbly by poor old Bud. Peter Skerrett calls the stair at the Millard “Jacob’s Ladder,” because, says he, “the angels who have good tops to their ankles are continually ascending and descending.” Up Jacob’s Ladder, then, Mr. Waddy and his friends presently marched to their rooms. When the trio, after their toilet, descended, they found the hall lined with people awaiting dinner. Peter Skerrett stepped up to greet Mr. Waddy. “Come, Peter,” said the young nabob, introducing his friends, “sit down and tell us what you call the protective scandals. We are all green at Newport.” “That is a new expwession to me,” said Sir Com, gaspingly as usual. “Pwotective scandals--what does it mean?” “Strangers,” explained Peter oracularly, “before they are up to trap, are apt to put their foot in it. They need someone to inform them who are the people they must know, whom they may know, whom they may know under penalties, and whom they must not know. They need also a general guide to conversation--to know to whom they shall say, ‘Man is the architect of his own fortunes,’ and to whom, ‘It is a noble thing to be descended from a long line of proud and noble ancestors.’” “Must we learn the pedigwee of evewybody here?” demanded Ambient, in consternation. “I shall have to cwam like a fellow going up for his gweat go.” “Ah, there you’ve hit it,” replied Peter. “The actual pedigrees are almost none, thanks to republican institutions. Except a very few families, who have managed to hold together and keep pelf to their names, there are no pedigrees to remember. As a Nation, we have buried our grandfather. Parentage only of everyone is what you must know. We are a religious people,” and he turned his eyes upward whither the ceiling was between him and heaven, and motioned as if to cross himself. “Yes, fervently religious, and have read in Holy Writ that labour was a curse. We have agreed that it ought to be expunged. But as it is almost impossible in general powwow to avoid alluding to some trade or business, the great protective scandal is to know the individual one not to mention to each of these people. They do not wish to be reminded by what especial class of curse their papas were made miserable and millionaire.