“If you mean by that,” replied Mrs. Clutterbuck, admiring herself in a mirror, “I do not care for the vulgar crowd you ask to dinner, you are certainly right. They are neither polished nor amusing.” “Strikes me, madame, that you seem to feel the want of the British aristocracy. You can’t get on without them--that is so. It seems a pity that Lord Francis Onslow should be on the other side of the Atlantic. He would have been a decided acquisition to our family circle. See?” “What do you mean?” asked Lucille, with her large eyes fixed upon the colonel menacingly. “What do you mean?” “What I say,” retorted the colonel. “I do not want, madame, any unpleasantness, but I give you fair warning that I know a thing or two. I have special sources of information.” “Do you want to insult me?” Lucille asked in a low tone, raising her head, and still keeping her steady gaze upon her husband, her eyes looking into his eyes, as if they would read his very soul. “Come, come, madame, none of that,” cried Clutterbuck, waving her off. “I tell you, Loo-cill, I was not born yesterday, nor yet the day before. My will is a pretty strong one, and I tell you distinctly I am not a subject. I have been tried before, and it would not do. So take my word, madame, you are giving yourself a great deal of trouble for nothing. Take my advice, madame, and drop it. Guess it won’t do.” She seemed to concentrate her power of will into a supreme and final effort, and then she shrank back into a _fauteuil_--conquered. Her husband laughed, and continued: “You see you cannot contrive it. No, madame, it won’t do. So, if you take my advice, I would not try it again. You see it just riles me, and I am not a nice man to rile. I love and respect all ladies, but I have a sharp and short way of reckoning with snakes. See?” She was silent for a moment and then burst into a hysterical laugh. “There,” continued her husband, “you notice you are unhinged. It is not good for you, this kind of excitement. And now tell me, how is Ronny? Why did he not come down to give his uncle good-morning before I started for business to-day?” “Ronny has gone,” replied Lucille shortly. “Gone,” exclaimed the Senator. “Why, where have you sent him?” “That is my business,” returned Mrs. Clutterbuck. “Surely I have a right to do what I please with my own nephew.” “Nephew,” echoed he. “Whew!” “Have you any reason for questioning the relationship?” “Well, no,” replied her husband, stroking his beard; “but it strikes me for so near a relative, the lad does not seem to care particularly about you. Why, I do believe he likes me better than he does you.” “Ronny has bad taste.” “Maybe, madame, maybe,” returned her husband. “But you might keep a civil tongue in your head. It’s that kind of thing that riles my guests.” “What kind of thing?” “Oh, drop it. Now tell me, when do you expect Ronny’s return?” “I don’t expect it at all.”