“Here’s the poor fellow now,” said Cousin Egbert almost gleefully, and our host entered. He carried a patch over his right eye and was not attired for sport on the lake, but in a dark morning suit of quietly beautiful lines that I thought showed a fine sense of the situation. He shot me one superior glance from his left eye and turned to Mrs. Effie. “I see you still harbour the ruffian?” “I’ve just given him a call-down,” said Mrs. Effie, plainly ill at ease, “and he says it was all because you were sober; that if you’d been in the state Lord Ivor Cradleigh was the time it happened at Chaynes-Wotten he wouldn’t have done anything to you, probably.” “What’s this, what’s this? Lord Ivor Cradleigh--Chaynes-Wotten?” The man seemed to be curiously interested by the mere names, in spite of himself. “His lordship was at Chaynes-Wotten for the shooting, I suppose?” This, most amazingly, to me. “A house party at Whitsuntide, sir,” I explained. “Ah! And you say his lordship was----” “Oh, quite, quite in his cups, sir. If I might explain, it was that, sir--its being done under circumstances and in a certain entirely genial spirit of irritation to which I could take no offence, sir. His lordship is a very decent sort, sir. I’ve known him intimately for years.” “Dear, dear!” he replied. “Too bad, too bad! And I dare say you thought me out of temper last night? Nothing of the sort. You should have taken it in quite the same spirit as you did from Lord Ivor Cradleigh.” “It seemed different, sir,” I said firmly. “If I may take the liberty of putting it so, I felt quite offended by your manner. I missed from it at the most critical moment, as one might say, a certain urbanity that I found in his lordship, sir.” “Well, well, well! It’s too bad, really. I’m quite aware that I show a sort of brusqueness at times, but mind you, it’s all on the surface. Had you known me as long as you’ve known his lordship, I dare say you’d have noticed the same rough urbanity in me as well. I rather fancy some of us over here don’t do those things so very differently. A few of us, at least.” “I’m glad, indeed, to hear it, sir. It’s only necessary to understand that there is a certain mood in which one really cannot permit one’s self to be--you perceive, I trust.” “Perfectly, perfectly,” said he, “and I can only express my regret that you should have mistaken my own mood, which, I am confident, was exactly the thing his lordship might have felt.” “I gladly accept your apology, sir,” I returned quickly, “as I should have accepted his lordship’s had his manner permitted any misapprehension on my part. And in return I wish to apologize most contritely for the phrase I applied to you just after it happened, sir. I rarely use strong language, but----” “I remember hearing none,” said he. “I regret to say, sir, that I called you a blighted little mug----” “You needn’t have mentioned it,” he replied with just a trace of sharpness, “and I trust that in future----”