Mr. Crocker was swallowing convulsively, as if testing his larynx with a view to speech. Like Saul of Tarsus, he had been stricken dumb by the sudden bright light which his wife's words had caused to flash upon him. Frequently during his sojourn in London he had wondered just why Eugenia had settled there in preference to her own country. It was not her wont to do things without an object, yet until this moment he had been unable to fathom her motives. Even now it seemed almost incredible. And yet what meaning would her words have other than the monstrous one which had smitten him as a blackjack? "Say--I mean, Eugenia--you don't want--you aren't trying--you aren't working to--you haven't any idea of trying to get them to make me a Lord, have you?" "It is what I have been working for all these years!" "But--but why? Why? That's what I want to know. Why?" Mrs. Crocker's fine eyes glittered. "I will tell you why, Bingley. Just before we were married I had a talk with my sister Nesta. She was insufferably offensive. She referred to you in terms which I shall never forgive. She affected to look down on you, to think that I was marrying beneath me. So I am going to make you an English peer and send Nesta a newspaper clipping of the Birthday Honours with your name in it, if I have to keep working till I die! Now you know!" Silence fell. Mr. Crocker drank cold coffee. His wife stared with gleaming eyes into the glorious future. "Do you mean that I shall have to stop on here till they make me a lord?" said Mr. Crocker limply. "Yes." "Never go back to America?" "Not till we have succeeded." "Oh Gee! Oh Gosh! Oh Hell!" said Mr. Crocker, bursting the bonds of years. Mrs. Crocker though resolute, was not unkindly. She made allowances for her husband's state of mind. She was willing to permit even American expletives during the sinking-in process of her great idea, much as a broad-minded cowboy might listen indulgently to the squealing of a mustang during the branding process. Docility and obedience would be demanded of him later, but not till the first agony had abated. She spoke soothingly to him. "I am glad we have had this talk, Bingley. It is best that you should know. It will help you to realise your responsibilities. And that brings me back to James. Thank goodness Lord Percy Whipple is in town. He is about James' age, and from what Lady Corstorphine tells me will be an ideal friend for him. You understand who he is, of course? The second son of the Duke of Devizes, the Premier's closest friend, the man who can practically dictate the Birthday Honours. If James and Lord Percy can only form a close friendship, our battle will be as good as won. It will mean everything. Lady Corstorphine has promised to arrange a meeting. In the meantime, I will speak to James and warn him to be more careful." Mr. Crocker had produced a stump of pencil from his pocket and was writing on the table-cloth.