“Say no more, please. It’s quite understood,” said Belknap-Jackson hastily. The other subsided into low mutterings. “I trust you fully understand the situation, Ruggles--Colonel Ruggles,” he continued to me. “It’s preposterous, but plain as a pillar-box,” I answered. “I can only regret it as keenly as any right-minded person should. It’s not at all what I’ve been accustomed to.” “Very well. Then I suggest that you accompany me for a drive this afternoon. I’ll call for you with the trap, say at three.” “Perhaps,” suggested his wife, “it might be as well if Colonel Ruggles were to come to us as a guest.” She was regarding me with a gaze that was frankly speculative. “Oh, not at all, not at all!” retorted Mrs. Effie crisply. “Having been announced as our house guest--never do in the world for him to go to you so soon. We must be careful in this. Later, perhaps, my dear.” Briefly the ladies measured each other with a glance. Could it be, I asked myself, that they were sparring for the possession of me? “Naturally he will be asked about everywhere, and there’ll be loads of entertaining to do in return.” “Of course,” returned Mrs. Effie, “and I’d never think of putting it off on to you, dear, when we’re wholly to blame for the awful thing.” “That’s so thoughtful of you, dear,” replied her friend coldly. “At three, then,” said Belknap-Jackson as we arose. “I shall be delighted,” I murmured. “I bet you won’t,” said Cousin Egbert sourly. “He wants to show you off.” This, I could see, was ignored as a sheer indecency. “We shall have to get a reception in quick,” said Mrs. Effie, her eyes narrowed in calculation. “I don’t see what all the fuss was about,” remarked Cousin Egbert again, as if to himself; “tearing me to pieces like a passel of wolves!” The Belknap-Jacksons left hastily, not deigning him a glance. And to do the poor soul justice, I believe he did not at all know what the “fuss” had been about. The niceties of the situation were beyond him, dear old sort though he had shown himself to be. I knew then I was never again to be harsh with him, let him dress as he would. “Say,” he asked, the moment we were alone, “you remember that thing you called him back there that night--‘blighted little mug,’ was it?” “It’s best forgotten, sir,” I said. “Well, sir, some way it sounded just the thing to call him. It sounded bully. What does it mean?” So far was his darkened mind from comprehending that I, in a foreign land, among a weird people, must now have a go at being a gentleman; and that if I fluffed my catch we should all be gossipped to rags!