It was evident that Mrs. Radigan did not know his entire name, for she talked to him so familiarly, tapping him with her fan, calling him "Your Royal Highness," "Your Grace," "My Lord," and "Duke" with equal facility. Miss Bumpschus was furious. She tried in vain to get her guest out of the masterful woman's hands, but was outgeneralled. You simply cannot awe Mrs. Radigan. She showed the Duke that she was on easy terms with nobility by asking him if he knew the Count and Countess Poglioso Spinnigini and her dear friend, Prince Cosmospopolis of Greece. When he replied that he had not that pleasure, she got up a dinner on the spot for Thursday evening. Miss Bumpschus kept breaking in all the time, but accomplished nothing. Mrs. Radigan told the Duke plainly that she would not let Ethel monopolize him. She wanted him to know her little sister, Pearl Veal, who had long been reading about him and was devoted to Red Cross work and the ginger-beer problem. Pearl was looking very lovely indeed, as she stood silently smiling at her sister's side, and his Grace promised to come to lunch the very next day. By this time I joined my cause with Miss Bumpschus and we surrounded them and forced the Dewberry Lambs between Mrs. Radigan and the prize. She took it good-naturedly and sipped tea with Willie Lite. While Mrs. Dewberry Lamb was telling Nocastle how her automobile had broken down on the way, he cross-examined me as to my friends. "Who," he asked, "is the jolly girl with the eyes, that that jolly Mrs. Bannigan introduced to me--Cutter--Cuttle--Cutlet?" "Ve-al," said I, emphasizing the French pronunciation indignantly. "Veal," said he. "A jolly name. I knew it had something to do with dinner." "Miss Veal is my fiancée," said I sternly. "Lucky fel-lah," said he; "jolly lucky. I lunch there to-morrow."