Mr. Trotter, laughing: "Drink, and all that sort of thing, you know. Jolly good thing too. I give you my personal guarantee that he--" The Marchioness: "Say no more about it, Mr. Trotter. I am sure we shall all be happy to receive any friend of yours. By the way, where are you now--where are you telephoning from?" Mr. Trotter: "Drug store just around the corner." The Marchioness: "A booth, I suppose?" Mr. Trotter: "Oh, yes. Tight as a sardine box." The Marchioness: "Good-bye." Mr. Trotter: "Oh--hello? I beg your pardon--are you there? Ah, I--er--neglected to mention that the baron may not appear at his best tonight. You see, the poor chap is a shade large for my clothes. Naturally, being a sailor-man, he hasn't--er--a very extensive wardrobe. I am fixing him out in a--er--rather abandoned evening suit of my own. That is to say, I abandoned it a couple of seasons ago. Rather nobby thing for a waiter, but not--er--what you might call--" The Marchioness, chuckling: "Quite good enough for a sailor, eh? Please assure him that no matter what he wears, or how he looks, he will not be conspicuous." After this somewhat ambiguous remark, the Marchioness hung up the receiver and returned to the drawing-room; a prolonged search revealing the dust-cloth on the "nub" of the andiron, just where she had left it, she fell to work once more on the velvety surface of a rare old Spanish cabinet that stood in the corner of the room. "Don't you want your apron, ma'am?" inquired Julia, sitting back on her heels and surveying with considerable pride the leg of an enormous throne seat she had been rubbing with all the strength of her stout arms. Her mistress ignored the question. She dabbed into a tiny recess and wriggled her finger vigorously. "I can't imagine where all the dust comes from, Julia," she said. "Some of it comes from Italy, and some of it from Spain, and some from France," said Julia promptly. "You could rub for a hundred years, ma'am, and there'd still be dust that you couldn't find, not to save your soul. And why not? I'd bet my last penny there's dust on that cabinet this very minute that settled before Napoleon was born, whenever that was." "I daresay," said the Marchioness absently.