"Well, I felt that from the first," said Mr. Gorleigh. "Geordie Blanstock introduced me, and I came here once or twice... Then I felt ... as you do; and I cried off. The only thing is, she _hasn't_ many friends, and I thought it wasn't quite fair, perhaps, to stay away out of a sort of false delicacy. The poor little woman _wants_ companionship." "Your feelings do you credit," I said as gravely as I could. Really, it would have been laughable if it had not been so disgusting. A man who lives by sponging on his friends for free meals to pretend that he was coming, against his will, to give "the poor little woman" the inestimable privilege of feeding him... But, if you please, that was the accepted "eye-wash", as my boy would call it. In a spirit of pure mischief, I am afraid, I went from one to another: "Bat" Shenstone, "Laurie" Forman, "Theo" Standish, "Bunny" Fancroft. Always the same story! _They_ didn't come to the house for what they could get out of it; I must understand that they were Mrs. Sawyer's _friends_. Hoity-toity! Friends with a capital "F"... Very soon it was "Consuelo's" friends. Looking back on it all, one seems to hear a series of commands: "on the word 'loot', quick march; on reaching South Audley Street, halt and enter; on the word 'love' ..." and so forth and so on. No, it's not mine; Will drew a most amusing picture... But that is literally what happened: first of all, they were "Consuelo's" _friends_, then they were all in love with her. I have suggested that men of that stamp are incapable of being serious about anything--except the next meal; but any one who was genuinely fond of the poor woman could not help seeing that this formal persecution was more than a joke. Will came to me after one of her parties and said that it was high time for us to _do_ something. "Get her _away_ from all that gang," he cried; and from the agitation of his voice I could see that he was taking this to heart. And, you know, it was rather dreadful to see that lovely creature with the tragic eyes standing like a bewildered child with all these young-old men baying round her... "It's easier said than done," I told him. "Uncle Tom Brackenbury's going north for the Twelfth," said Will. "Get him to lend you the Hall and ask Consuelo down."