"Dolly, you'll get over that absurd sense of obligatory regard for me--" "I had _rather_ have you, Louis." "I know. That's very sweet of you--and very proper.... You are all right.... I'll be back in a week or ten days, and," smilingly, "mind you have your report ready! If you've been a good girl we'll talk over 'The Inca' again and--perhaps--we'll have Mr. Bulder up to luncheon.... Good-bye." She gave him her hand, looking up into his face. "Smile!" he insisted. She smiled. So he went away, rather satiated with the pleasures of self-denial; but the lightly latent mockery soon broke out again in a smile as he reached the street. "What a mess!" he grinned to himself. "The Tressilvains at Portlaw's! And Wayward! and Shiela and Virginia and that awful Louis Malcourt! It only wants Hamil to make the jolliest little hell of it. O my, O my, what an amusing mess!" However, he knew what Portlaw didn't know, that Virginia would never accept that invitation, and that neither Wayward nor Constance Palliser would remain one day under the roof that harboured the sister of Louis Malcourt. CHAPTER XXV A CONFERENCE When Malcourt arrived at Luckless Lake Sunday evening he found Portlaw hunched up in an arm-chair, all alone in the living-room, although the hour was still early. "Where's your very agreeable house-party?" he inquired, looking about the empty room and hall with an air of troubled surprise. "Gone to bed," replied Portlaw irritably,--"what's left of 'em." And he continued reading "The Pink 'Un." "Really!" said Malcourt in polite concern. "Yes, really!" snapped Portlaw. "Mrs. Ascott went to Pride's and took Wayward and Constance Palliser; that was Friday. And Gray and Cecile joined them yesterday. It's been a horrible house-party; nobody had any use for anybody else and it has rained every day and--and--to be plain with you, Louis, nobody is enchanted with your relatives and that's the unpleasant truth!" "I don't blame anybody," returned Malcourt sincerely, removing his driving-gloves and shaking off his wet box-coat. "Why, I can scarcely stand them myself, William. Where are they?" "In the west wing of your house--preparing to remain indefinitely." "Dear, dear!" exclaimed Malcourt. "What on earth shall we do?" And he peered sideways at Portlaw with his tongue in his cheek. "Do? _I_ don't know. Why the devil did you suggest that they stop at your house?" "Because, William, curious as it may seem, I had a sort of weak-minded curiosity to see my sister once more." He walked over to the table, took a cigarette and lighted it, then stood regarding the burning match in his fingers. "She's the last of the family; I'll probably never see her again--" "She appears to be in excellent health," remarked Portlaw viciously. "So am I; but--" He shrugged and tossed the embers of the match onto the hearth. "But what?"