‘What’s that about drawing the line?’ asked Miss MacNeill, leaning across towards Muriel with a bewitching smile. ‘Oh, I only said Blitherington goes a long way before he thinks it necessary to draw it,’ Muriel replied. ‘It all depends what sort of a line you are talking about,’ Blitherington put in, ‘I know some ladies in evening dress who never seem to be going to draw a line at all.’ ‘Tut, Blithers,’ said Muriel, ‘you’d pervert an ecclesiastical synod.’ ‘Not much,’ returned the incorrigible peer, ‘I couldn’t spare the time. Suffering Sosthenes,’ he added after a pause, ‘just listen to Ophelia, she mixes her metaphors like those Reading birds do their biscuits.’ At this moment Reggie, who had risen to search for the salt, created a sufficient diversion by sitting down in the remains of the salmon mayonnaise, and was accordingly compelled to take off his coat and wear Mr. Accrington’s aquascutum for the rest of the day. Lady Blitherington, who was much exercised by the unfortunate contretemps, very kindly offered him her purple velvet cloak, but he declined the proffered honour with thanks. The general attention was distracted from the unfortunate Reggie by Blithers, who had discovered Accrington and Muriel seated behind a tree discussing rabbit-pie and other things. The most amusing thing about Accrington is the changefulness of his affections; he has, as Reggie remarked not long ago, the most expansive and expensive heart in Oxford. Only a week ago two of his ‘best girls’ arrived together quite unexpectedly and held prolonged and wordy warfare in his rooms until they caught sight of some photos of a third ‘best girl,’ when they buried the hatchet and tore up the other girl’s photos together. It may be added that when the third girl herself arrived a day or two later, her rage at finding none of her portraits on exhibition was only appeased by an even more costly gift than usual. These facts being well known among his friends, we were not a little amused to see that he had attached himself like a leech to Muriel for the last three days, weather and Reggie permitting. ‘What about the Babes in the Wood?’ yelled Blitherington with his most aggravating smile, as Muriel peered round the corner. ‘Oh! they haven’t arrived yet,’ she replied, ‘but what do you mean?’ Unfortunately this mystery was never cleared up, as Blithers returned to the family circle and was busily engaged in feeding Jacob on chocolate creams, which the faithful animal, to employ a euphemism, soon contrived to unswallow in a secluded portion of the meadow. As I turned to help Mrs. Accrington, who was most usefully employed in showing an awkward squad how to wash dishes, a voice behind me murmured, ‘Oh, Mr. Cochrane, please take me somewhere and give me a cigarette, I simply daren’t smoke before the Dowager.’