“Thank goodness,” Laura took it on herself to reply. “We’ve only been in Duffley three days, but I’m bored stiff with the place already. I feel wasted here. There are possibilities in a river picnic.” “Oh, rather,” George murmured dutifully, concealing his blenches in his port-glass. As Cynthia’s brother and sister, and consequently Guy’s brother and sister-in-law, Alan and Monica undoubtedly had every claim upon him; but he was not unduly elated at Cynthia’s news. Duffley was a nice, peaceful place, where one could get a tolerably good game of golf and smoke a quiet pipe or two in the country round. It seemed a pity to have it turned upside down, even for a few days. George had met Alan and Monica before; the meeting had taken place two years ago, but George would never forget it. “Oh, rather,” he repeated sadly, wondering whether there were many frogs in the neighbourhood of Duffley. The last time they had met, Alan had done his best to endear himself by putting a frog in George’s bed. Neither George nor the frog had altogether appreciated the jest. George had had something of a fellow-feeling for frogs ever since. Cynthia turned to her other neighbour. “Will you still be here, Pat?” “Mr. Doyle,” had been dropped, on command of the sisters, before the champagne had been round twice. “I doubt it,” observed Laura darkly, from the other side of the table. It appeared that Laura had taken it upon herself to entertain the gravest doubts as to the engagement lasting for more than a few hours in the immediate future, and to give voice to those doubts upon every possible occasion. When she was not doing this, she was trying to correct, with an air of patient despondency, certain faults which she professed to see in her future brother-in-law’s manners. “For,” as she told her indignant sister, “you may be going to marry him, but I’ve got to be a sister to him; and I never could be a sister to a man who eats and drinks at the same time.” “No, Cynthia,” said Mr. Doyle with emphasis. “I shall certainly not be here then. Why?” “What a pity! I couldn’t help thinking you’d be so useful,” Cynthia smiled. “I mean, anybody who can manage to engage himself to Dawks—well, Monica ought to be child’s-play to him.” “Are you meaning,” inquired Mr. Doyle carefully, “that you want me to get engaged to your sister as well as Dawks? I’m a very obliging man, and I do my best to be kind to my friends, but the trouble is that I’ve never been properly trained as a bigamist. Besides, don’t you think Dawks might have something to say about it?” “She will,” interposed that young lady’s sister promptly. “She’ll say, ‘Get to it, my lad, and step briskly!’ That’ll be all right, Cynthia. He’ll be free for Monica days before she comes.” Cynthia laughed tactfully and proceeded with her exposition. “No, I wasn’t meaning that you need go so far as to get engaged to her; what I did think, though, was that you might be able to—well, what is known as _handle_ her, perhaps.”