Two or three days elapsed after this commencement of operations, and the Pimpernels had begun to be seriously affronted. Day by day Arden deserted them after luncheon without even taking the trouble to apologise. Now and then it happened that the croquet came absolutely to a stand-still, and once Mrs. Pimpernel drove into Liverpool without any captive knight to exhibit, which was very hard upon her. She was a hospitable woman, ready to invite any well-born, well-mannered individual of the (fashionable) houseless and homeless class; but then, on the other hand, she expected something in return. “Proper respect,” she called it; but it meant a good deal of social work--attendance upon her daughter and herself, a sort of combination of the amateur footman and the amusing companion. At this rate she would have given Arthur Arden board and lodging for as long a period as he might desire. So long as she could have it in her power to explain to any of her friends whom she met that he was “one of the Ardens of Arden--indeed, the next heir to the property,” she was able to feel that she had something for her money. But to give him the green room, which was one of the nicest in the house, and to feed him with truffles and champagne and all the delicacies of the season, in order that he might spend half the day--the really useful part of the day--with his cousin, was a thing she had not bargained for. She showed her displeasure to the culprit himself in a manner which would have been much more plain to him had he cared more about it; and she complained to her husband, stating her grievance in the plainest terms. “That Arthur Arden is an utter nuisance,” she said. “I consider it most impudent of him, Mr. Pimpernel. He comes and stays here, making a convenience of our house, but never thinks of paying proper respect, such as any man who was a gentleman would. He sees Alice and me drive out by ourselves, and actually has the assurance to wave his hand to us, and wish us a pleasant drive. Yesterday I said to him--I really could not help it--‘You don’t do much to make our drive pleasant, Mr. Arden,’ and he simply stared at me. Fancy, having to drive into Liverpool shopping, Alice and I, without a soul!--when everybody knows I like to have a gentleman to do little things for us--and _that_ Arden actually staying in the house!” “It was cool of him,” said her husband. “He is what I call a cool hand, is Arden. I’ll speak to him, if you like. I am not one of the men that beat about the bush. Make yourself understood, that’s my motto. There is just one thing to be said for him, however, and that is, that it may be business. He told me he was hunting through the Arden papers; confounded silly of that girl to let him; but that is no business of mine.”