Her face overflowed with laughter. He let her go. She linked her arm in that of the daughter of the house--Miss Florence Watton--who was crossing the hall at the moment, and the two went upstairs together, she throwing back one triumphant glance at him from the landing. George stood watching them till they disappeared. His expression was neither soft nor angry. There was in it a mocking self-possession which showed that he too had been playing a part--mingled, perhaps, with a certain perplexity. CHAPTER II George Tressady came down very late for dinner, and found his hostess on the verge of annoyance. Mrs. Watton was a large, commanding woman, who seldom thought it worth while to disguise any disapproval she might feel--and she had a great deal of that commodity to expend, both on persons and institutions. George hastened to propitiate her with the usual futilities: he had supposed that he was in excellent time, his watch had been playing tricks, and so on. Mrs. Watton, who, after all, on this great day beheld in the new member the visible triumph of her dearest principles, received these excuses at first with stiffness, but soon thawed. "Oh, you _naughty_ boy, you naughty, mendacious boy!" said a sprightly voice in Tressady's ear. "'Excellent time,' indeed! I saw you--for shame!" And Lady Tressady flounced away from her son, laughing over her shoulder in one of her accustomed poses. She wore white muslin over cherry-coloured silk. The display of neck and shoulders could hardly have been more lavish; and the rouge on her cheeks had been overdone, which rarely happened. George turned from her hurriedly to speak to Lord Fontenoy. "What a fool that woman is!" thought Mrs. Watton to herself, as her sharp eye followed her guest. "She will make George positively dislike her soon--and all the time she is bound to get him to pay her debts, or there will be a smash. What! dinner? John, will you please take Lady Tressady; Harding, will you take Mrs. Hawkins"--pointing her second son towards a lady in black sitting stiffly on the edge of an ottoman; "Mr. Hawkins takes Florence; Sir George"--she waved her hand towards Miss Sewell. "Now, Lord Fontenoy, you must take me; and the rest of you sort yourselves." As the young people, mostly cousins, laughingly did what they were told, Sir George held out his arm to Miss Sewell. "I am very sorry for you," he said, as they passed into the dining-room. "Oh! I knew it would be my turn," said Letty, with resignation. "You see, you took Florrie last night, and Aunt Watton the night before." George settled himself deliberately in his chair, and turned to study his companion. "Do you mind warning me, to begin with, how I can avoid giving you a headache? Since this morning my nerve has gone--I want directions." "Well--" said Letty, pondering, "let us lay down the subjects we _may_ talk about first. For instance, you may talk of Mrs. Hawkins."