SIR CHARLES. I should think so. LADY DEDMOND. I shall simply say they're dining out, and that we're not to wait Bridge for them. SIR CHARLES. [Listening] He's having a palaver with that man of George's. PAYNTER, reappearing, announces: "Captain Huntingdon." SIR CHARLES and LADY DEDMOND turn to him with relief. LADY DEDMOND. Ah! It's you, Reginald! HUNTINGDON. [A tall, fair soldier, of thirty] How d'you do? How are you, sir? What's the matter with their man? SHE CHARLES. What! HUNTINGDON. I was going into the dining-room to get rid of my cigar; and he said: "Not in there, sir. The master's there, but my instructions are to the effect that he's not." SHE CHARLES. I knew that fellow---- LADY DEDMOND. The fact is, Reginald, Clare's out, and George is waiting for her. It's so important people shouldn't---- HUNTINGDON. Rather! They draw together, as people do, discussing the misfortunes of members of their families. LADY DEDMOND. It's getting serious, Reginald. I don't know what's to become of them. You don't think the Rector--you don't think your father would speak to Clare? HUNTINGDON. Afraid the Governor's hardly well enough. He takes anything of that sort to heart so--especially Clare. SIR CHARLES. Can't you put in a word yourself? HUNTINGDON. Don't know where the mischief lies. SIR CHARLES. I'm sure George doesn't gallop her on the road. Very steady-goin' fellow, old George. HUNTINGDON. Oh, yes; George is all right, sir. LADY DEDMOND. They ought to have had children. HUNTINGDON. Expect they're pretty glad now they haven't. I really don't know what to say, ma'am. SIR CHARLES. Saving your presence, you know, Reginald, I've often noticed parsons' daughters grow up queer. Get too much morality and rice puddin'. LADY DEDMOND. [With a clear look] Charles! SIR CHARLES. What was she like when you were kids? HUNTINGDON. Oh, all right. Could be rather a little devil, of course, when her monkey was up. SIR CHARLES. I'm fond of her. Nothing she wants that she hasn't got, is there? HUNTINGDON. Never heard her say so. SIR CHARLES. [Dimly] I don't know whether old George is a bit too matter of fact for her. H'm? [A short silence.] LADY DEDMOND. There's a Mr. Malise coming here to-night. I forget if you know him. HUNTINGDON. Yes. Rather a thorough-bred mongrel. LADY DEDMOND. He's literary. [With hesitation] You--you don't think he--puts--er--ideas into her head? HUNTINGDON. I asked Greyman, the novelist, about him; seems he's a bit of an Ishmaelite, even among those fellows. Can't see Clare---- LADY DEDMOND. No. Only, the great thing is that she shouldn't be encouraged. Listen!--It is her-coming in. I can hear their voices. Gone to her room. What a blessing that man isn't here yet! [The door bell rings] Tt! There he is, I expect. SIR CHARLES. What are we goin' to say? HUNTINGDON. Say they're dining out, and we're not to wait Bridge for them.