“Of course not,” she reassured him. “Arthur likes Doris better than me.” “But he mustn’t like Doris,” said Michael eagerly. “At least she mustn’t like him. Because I’ve got a friend—at least three million times as decent as Drake—who wants to be in love with Doris, or rather he will want to be when he sees her.” “Why, you haven’t seen Doris yourself yet,” laughed Lily. “Oh, of course my plan may all come to nothing,” Michael admitted. “But look here, I vote we don’t bother about anybody else in the world but ourselves for the rest of the afternoon.” Nor did they. “Shall I wear a top-hat to-morrow?” Michael asked even in the very poignancy of farewell. “I mean—will your mother prefer it?” “Oh, no, the people who come to tea with us on Sunday are mostly artists and actors,” decided Lily judicially. “Do lots of people come then?” asked Michael, quickly jealous. “A good many.” “I might as well have fallen in love with one of the Royal Family,” sighed Michael in despair. “What do you mean?” “Well, I never can see you alone,” he declared. “Why, we’ve had the whole of this afternoon,” she told him. “Do you call sitting in the middle of Kensington Gardens being alone? Why, it was crammed with people,” he ejaculated in disgust. “I must go, I must go, I must go,” Lily whispered and almost seemed to be preening her wings in the lamplight before she flew away. “I say, what number is Drake’s house?” Michael asked, with a consummate affectation of casual enquiry. She told him laughingly, and in a most malicious hurry would not even linger a moment to ask him why he wanted to know. Coldly and deliberately Michael after dinner rang the bell of Drake’s house. “Is—er—Master Arthur at home?” he asked the maid. “Master Arthur,” she cried. “Someone to see you.” “Hullo, Bangs,” shouted Drake, emerging effusively from a doorway. “Oh, hullo,” said Michael loftily. “I thought I’d call to see if you felt like coming out.” “Right-o,” said Drake. “Wait half a tick while I tell my mater. Come in, and meet my people.” “Oh, no,” said Michael. “I’m beastly untidy.” He would condescend to Drake for the sake of his love, but he did not think that love demanded the sacrifice of condescending to a possibly more expansive acquaintance with Drake’s family. “So you’ve met the fair Lily,” Drake said, as they strolled along. “Pretty smart, what, my boy?” “I’m going to tea with them to-morrow,” Michael informed him. “Mrs. Haden’s a bit thick,” said Drake confidentially. “And Doris is of a very coming-on disposition.” Michael thought of Alan and sighed; then he thought of himself listening to this and he was humiliated.