Daddy drew back a step and stared at her in mock amazement. “Everybody who has him anywhere has a very good reason for doing so. But do you mean to say, Adela, that _you_ want to get on a Company, or sell a spavined racer, or weed your gallery of dubious Holbeins or spurious Romneys at a profit, or get useful hints as to Canadian or Pacific booms?” Mrs. Raby laughed. “No, I don’t want to do any of those things. I want Ronald to have a chance to admire his daughter.” Daddy laughed his inward chuckling laughter; and indulged in a prolonged whistle. “Well, my dear Adela, you won’t want a commission for bringing the match about as most of ’em would do. But I think I know who’d get a pretty high one if it ever come off. Lady Kenny set you on, of course?” His hostess, who did not like the phrase “set on” as applied to herself, replied stiffly: “It would be a good thing in many ways. She is charming. She could not look more thoroughbred if she were an archduchess, and you know he is very poor despite all his self-denial. I would not for worlds,” she continued with warmth, “be privy to any marriage in which either the man or the woman were sacrificed for mere money. But if they should like each other there could be no harm done but a great deal of good; and you know that any woman who marries Ronnie will have a heart of gold in her keeping.” Daddy nodded. “Ronnie’s all right. But he’s a horse you may lead to the water; he aren’t a horse you can make drink. When is he coming?” “To-night. You know he is the most punctual and faithful of persons. He has spent the Whitsun week with me ever since his first year at Eton.” Daddy chuckled. “Lord, it will be a rare sight when he finds out what you’ve let him in for! His sister has been hammering at him for two years to make him know those people.” “‘It is well to begin with a little aversion,’” quoted Mrs. Raby. “Don’t say anything to him, pray; you would spoil it all.” “I never say anything indiscreet,” replied Daddy, with truth. “But he’ll twig it for himself in a jiffy; Ronnie’s real sharp.” “What odious vulgarisms!” said Mrs. Raby. “You grow very vulgar, Daddy.” “Must keep pace with the times,” replied Daddy; “secret of keeping young, as Bulwer says somewhere. It’s kind of you to give me this little bit of comedy. Why on earth do people go to nasty draughty theatres and get cricks in their neck when they have society all around ’em to make ’em laugh?”