Mr. Pett, the human opossum, came to life. He had contrived to create about himself such a defensive atmosphere of non-existence that now that he re-entered the conversation it was as if a corpse had popped out of its tomb like a jack-in-the-box. Obeying the voice of authority, he pushed the tombstone to one side and poked his head out of the sepulchre. "Piccadilly Jim!" he murmured apologetically. "Piccadilly Jim!" said Mrs. Crocker. "It is extremely impertinent of them!" In spite of his misery, a wan smile appeared on Mr. Pett's death-mask at this remark. "They should worry about--!" "Peter!" Mr. Pett died again, greatly respected. "Why should the New York papers refer to James at all?" said Mrs. Crocker. "Explain, Peter!" Mr. Pett emerged reluctantly from the cerements. He had supposed that Nesta would do the talking. "Well, he's a news-item." "Why?" "Well, here's a boy that's been a regular fellow--raised in America--done work on a newspaper--suddenly taken off to England to become a London dude--mixing with all the dukes, playing pinochle with the King--naturally they're interested in him." A more agreeable expression came over Mrs. Crocker's face. "Of course, that is quite true. One cannot prevent the papers from printing what they wish. So they have published articles about James' doings in English Society?" "Doings," said Mr. Pett, "is right!" "Something has got to be done about it," said Mrs. Pett. Mr. Pett endorsed this. "Nesta's going to lose her health if these stories go on," he said. Mrs. Crocker raised her eyebrows, but she had hard work to keep a contented smile off her face. "If you are not above petty jealousy, Nesta . . ." Mrs. Pett laughed a sharp, metallic laugh. "It is the disgrace I object to!" "The disgrace!" "What else would you call it, Eugenia? Wouldn't you be ashamed if you opened your Sunday paper and came upon a full page article about your nephew having got intoxicated at the races and fought a book-maker--having broken up a political meeting--having been sued for breach-of-promise by a barmaid . . ." Mrs. Crocker preserved her well-bred calm, but she was shaken. The episodes to which her sister had alluded were ancient history, horrors of the long-dead past, but it seemed that they still lived in print. There and then she registered the resolve to talk to her step-son James when she got hold of him in such a manner as would scourge the offending Adam out of him for once and for all.