“Yes,” said his relative, in pursuance of a vow he had made in the early eighties never to refuse an offer of this kind. “Gimme!” You would have thought that that would have put matters on a pleasanter footing. But no. Having lapped up the restorative, Uncle Donald returned to the attack quite un-softened. “Never thought you were a fool before,” he said severely. Bruce Carmyle's proud spirit chafed. This sort of interview, which had become a commonplace with his cousin Ginger, was new to him. Hitherto, his actions had received neither criticism nor been subjected to it. “I'm not a fool.” “You are a fool. A damn fool,” continued Uncle Donald, specifying more exactly. “Don't like the girl. Never did. Not a nice girl. Didn't like her. Right from the first.” “Need we discuss this?” said Bruce Carmyle, dropping, as he was apt to do, into the grand manner. The Head of the Family drank in a layer of moustache and blew it out again. “Need we discuss it?” he said with asperity. “We're going to discuss it! Whatch think I climbed all these blasted stairs for with my weak heart? Gimme another!” Mr. Carmyle gave him another. “'S a bad business,” moaned Uncle Donald, having gone through the movements once more. “Shocking bad business. If your poor father were alive, whatch think he'd say to your tearing across the world after this girl? I'll tell you what he'd say. He'd say... What kind of whisky's this?” “O'Rafferty Special.” “New to me. Not bad. Quite good. Sound. Mellow. Wherej get it?” “Bilby's in Oxford Street.” “Must order some. Mellow. He'd say... well, God knows what he'd say. Whatch doing it for? Whatch doing it for? That's what I can't see. None of us can see. Puzzles your uncle George. Baffles your aunt Geraldine. Nobody can understand it. Girl's simply after your money. Anyone can see that.” “Pardon me, Uncle Donald,” said Mr. Carmyle, stiffly, “but that is surely rather absurd. If that were the case, why should she have refused me at Monk's Crofton?” “Drawing you on,” said Uncle Donald, promptly. “Luring you on. Well-known trick. Girl in 1881, when I was at Oxford, tried to lure me on. If I hadn't had some sense and a weak heart... Whatch know of this girl? Whatch know of her? That's the point. Who is she? Wherej meet her?” “I met her at Roville, in France.” “Travelling with her family?” “Travelling alone,” said Bruce Carmyle, reluctantly. “Not even with that brother of hers? Bad!” said Uncle Donald. “Bad, bad!” “American girls are accustomed to more independence than English girls.” “That young man,” said Uncle Donald, pursuing a train of thought, “is going to be fat one of these days, if he doesn't look out. Travelling alone, was she? What did you do? Catch her eye on the pier?” “Really, Uncle Donald!” “Well, must have got to know her somehow.” “I was introduced to her by Lancelot. She was a friend of his.”