I invited Spenworth... You look surprised; but, if you will think for a moment... Arthur's brother. It was notorious that I had for years disapproved of his whole way of life, but the family had to shew a united front. His _very_ recent divorce, which--between ourselves--I think was forgiven far too quickly; goodness me, I hope I am not a bigot and I would assuredly persecute no one, but "whom God hath joined together" ... I invited him chiefly on his wife's account; her position is not so secure that she can altogether dispense with a supporting hand, and I was tired of confessing to people that I had not even met her... Never can I forget, either, Spenworth's triumph when for a moment Arthur seemed to be treading his path... _My_ Nemesis for trying to hold my head erect and daring to reprove him. No, I did not hear what he said, but I am certain that he said it... For several days--to my amazement, for I knew they were at Cheniston--there was no reply. Then I met Spenworth in the street. "Oh, I say!," he began. (You know that _hunting-field_ voice of his?) "You aren't playing the game with poor old Arthur, you know." "I'm afraid I must beg for enlightenment," I said. "Oh, well, you know, this is the first time the poor old boy has ever left the rails." (I am always lost in admiration of Spenworth's _elegance_!) "Dust his jacket for him at home as much as you like, but don't make him eat humble-pie in public, don't make an exhibition of him." "I don't know what you _mean_," I said. "Oh, bunkum! Every one knows he tried to slip his collar, every one thought he'd got away; and, now that you've recaptured him, you want to shew him off in his muzzle. 'Tain't cricket, Ann, if you ask me; you've won, and there's no need to crow over the old boy. 'Tain't as if he'd given you any trouble before." "I must give it up," I said in despair. "Spenworth, will you tell me--in language comprehensible to my poor wits--whether you and your wife are coming to dine on the eighteenth?" "Thank you very much, Ann," he answered, "we are _not_. 'Matter o' fact, I'm taking the chair at a regimental dinner, but if I _wasn't_... I think it's an infernal shame and I hope it's a rotten party." And then he turned on his heel... I can never see his charm, myself. People excuse his rudeness, his immorality, his utterly wasted, self-indulgent life... They say he's "such a good fellow", whatever that may mean... But I find it very hard to speak _coolly_ about Spenworth...