Oliver was the first to show them this paper. But lest by any chance they should miss it, half a dozen unknown friends were good enough to mail them copies, carefully marked.—And then came Reggie Mann, who as free-lance and gossip-gatherer sat on the fence and watched the fun; Reggie wore a thin veil of sympathy over his naked glee, and brought them the latest reports from all portions of the battle-ground. Thus they were able to know exactly what everybody was saying about them—who was amused and who was outraged, and who proposed to drop them and who to take them up. Montague listened for a while, but then he got tired of it, and went for a walk to escape it—but only to run into another trap. It was dark, and he was strolling down the Avenue, when out of a brilliantly lighted jewellery shop came Mrs. Billy Alden to her carriage. And she hailed him with an exclamation. “You man,” she cried, “what have you been doing?” He tried to laugh it off and escape, but she took him by the arm, commanding, “Get in here and tell me about it.” So he found himself moving with the slow stream of vehicles on the Avenue, and with Mrs. Billy gazing at him quizzically and asking him if he did not feel like a hippopotamus in a frog-pond. He replied to her raillery by asking her under which flag she stood. But there was little need to ask that, for anyone who was fighting a Walling became _ipso facto_ a friend of Mrs. Billy’s. She told Montague that if he felt his social position was imperilled, all he had to do was to come to her. She would gird on her armour and take the field. “But tell me how you came to do it,” she said. He answered that there was very little to tell. He had taken up a case which was obviously just, but having no idea what a storm it would raise. Then he noticed that his companion was looking at him sharply. “Do you really mean that’s all there is to it?” she asked. “Of course I do,” said he, perplexed. “Do you know,” was her unexpected response, “I hardly know what to make of you. I’m afraid to trust you, on account of your brother.” Montague was embarrassed. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “Everybody thinks there’s some trickery in that suit,” she answered. “Oh,” said Montague, “I see. Well, they will find out. If it will help you any to know it, I’ve been having no end of scenes with my brother.” “I’ll believe you,” said Mrs. Billy, genially. “But it seems strange that a man could have been so blind to a situation! I feel quite ashamed because I didn’t help you myself!” The carriage had stopped at Mrs. Billy’s home, and she asked him to dinner. “There’ll be nobody but my brother,” she said,—“we’re resting this evening. And I can make up to you for my negligence!”