"And lived to tell the tale!" he added with characteristic familiarity. "I can tell you I felt it a risk after reading that terrible depreciation of you in the _Parthenon_; you see, I've been in England a few days, and have been getting abreast of things at my hotel while my tailors were making me externally presentable. By the way, I ran across a young Australian journalist who is over here now, and who occasionally scribbles for the _Parthenon_. I asked him if he knew who had made that scurrilous attack upon you, Mr. Lafont. I was interested, because I knew you must be one of Jack's relations." "And did you find out?" inquired Claude, with pardonable curiosity. "He found out for me. The culprit was a man of your name, Mr. Stubbs; no relation, I hope?" "I hope not," said Stubbs, emptying his glass; and his pallid complexion turned a sicklier yellow, as though his blood were nicotine, and the nicotine had mounted to his face. "I should like to hear that name in full," said Lady Caroline down the length of the table. "I read the article myself. It was a disgrace to journalism. It is only fair to our Mr. Stubbs that we should hear his namesake's Christian name." "I think I can oblige," said Dalrymple, producing his pocket-book. "His name was--ah! here it is! His name was Edmund. Edmund Stubbs!" Edmund Stubbs was not unequal to the occasion. He looked straight at Jack. "Will you kindly make it convenient to send me in to Devenholme in time for the next train?" he said. "If the Australian--gentleman--is going to stay in your house, I, for one, shall trespass no longer on your hospitality." "Nor I, for another!" Llewellyn chimed in. And without further ceremony the mordant couple left the table and the room. Jack looked embarrassed, and Claude felt sorry for Jack. As for Olivia, she had felt vaguely indignant with Dalrymple ever since he had taken the head of the table; and this scene put a point to her feelings, while it also revived her first prejudice against the squatter. Lady Caroline, however, congratulated him upon an excellent piece of work. "You have performed a public service, my dear Mr. Dalrymple," said she. "Dear Jack will, I know, forgive me when I say that those two young men have never been in their element here. They are all right in a London drawing-room, as representatives of a certain type. In a country house they are impossible; and, for my part, I shall certainly never send them another card." Jack also was ceasing to disapprove of the humiliation of Edmund Stubbs, whose remarks overnight in the Poet's Corner had suddenly recurred to his mind. "Did you know it was the same man?" said he, pushing back his chair.