However, Mr. Wilkins, snatching off his hat on seeing her, instantly threw the cigar away. He threw it into the water a great jar of arum lilies presumably contained, and Mrs. Fisher, aware of the value men attach to their newly-lit cigars, could not but be impressed by this immediate and magnificent _amende honorable_. But the cigar did not reach the water. It got caught in the lilies, and smoked on by itself among them, a strange and depraved-looking object. “Where are you going to, my prett—” began Mr. Wilkins, advancing towards Mrs. Fisher; but he broke off just in time. Was it morning spirits impelling him to address Mrs. Fisher in the terms of a nursery rhyme? He wasn’t even aware that he knew the thing. Most strange. What could have put it, at such a moment, into his self-possessed head? He felt great respect for Mrs. Fisher, and would not for the world have insulted her by addressing her as a maid, pretty or otherwise. He wished to stand well with her. She was a woman of parts, and also, he suspected, of property. At breakfast they had been most pleasant together, and he had been struck by her apparent intimacy with well-known persons. Victorians, of course; but it was restful to talk about them after the strain of his brother-in-law’s Georgian parties on Hampstead Heath. He and she were getting on famously, he felt. She already showed all the symptoms of presently wishing to become a client. Not for the world would he offend her. He turned a little cold at the narrowness of his escape. She had not, however, noticed. “You are going out,” he said very politely, all readiness should she confirm his assumption to accompany her. “I want to find Lady Caroline,” said Mrs. Fisher, going towards the glass door leading into the top garden. “An agreeable quest,” remarked Mr. Wilkins. “May I assist in the search? Allow me—” he added, opening the door for her. “She usually sits over in that corner behind the bushes,” said Mrs. Fisher. “And I don’t know about it being an agreeable quest. She has been letting the bills run up in the most terrible fashion, and needs a good scolding.” “Lady Caroline?” said Mr. Wilkins, unable to follow such an attitude. “What has Lady Caroline, if I may inquire, to do with the bills here?” “The housekeeping was left to her, and as we all share alike it ought to have been a matter of honour with her—” “But—Lady Caroline housekeeping for the party here? A party which includes my wife? My dear lady, you render me speechless. Do you not know she is the daughter of the Droitwiches?” “Oh, is that who she is,” said Mrs. Fisher, scrunching heavily over the pebbles towards the hidden corner. “Well, that accounts for it. The muddle that man Droitwich made in his department in the war was a national scandal. It amounted to misappropriation of the public funds.” “But it is impossible, I assure you, to expect the daughter of the Droitwiches—” began Mr. Wilkins earnestly.