"But," I interrupted, "you're talking of the family. Your Aunt Auriol has a father, Lord Mountshire." "He's an old ass," said Evadne. "He's a peer of the realm," said I rebukingly, though I cordially agreed with her. "He's not fit to be General Lackaday's ancient butler," she retorted. "Is that your own?" "No. It's Charles's. But I can repeat it if I like." "And all this goes to prove----" said I. "Well, don't you see? You are dense. The news that the General had gone to France knocked them all silly. Aunt Auriol's looking rotten. Charles says she's off her feed. You should have seen her last night at dinner, when they were talking about him." "Again, my dear Evadne," said I, opening the gate of the kitchen garden for her to pass through, "this is none of my business." She took my arm again. "It doesn't matter. But oh, darling Uncle Tony, couldn't we fix it up?" "Fix up what?" I asked aghast. "The wedding," replied this amazing young person, looking up at me so that I had only a vision of earnest grey eyes, and a foreshortened snub nose and chin. "He's only shy. You could bring him up to the scratch at once." She went on in a whirl of words of which I preserve but a confused memory. Of course it was her own idea. She had heard her mother hint that Anthony Hylton might be a useful man to have about--but all the same she had her plan. Why shouldn't I go off to Paris and bring him back? I gasped. I fought for air. But Evadne hurried me on, talking all the time. She was dying for a wedding. She had never seen one in her life. She would be a bridesmaid. She described her costume. And she had set her heart on a wedding present--the best of the bunch of Sealyham puppies. Why, certainly they were all hers. Tit and Tat, from whom the rather extensive kennels had originally sprung, were her own private property. They had been given to her when she was six years old. Tat had died. But Tit. I knew Tit? Did I not? No one could spend an hour in Mansfield Court without making the acquaintance of the ancient thing on the hearthrug, with the shape of a woolly lamb and the eye of a hawk and the smile of a Court jester. Besides, I had known him since he was a puppy. I, _moi qui parle_, had been the donor of Tit and Tat. I reminded her. I was a stupid. As if she didn't know. But I was to confirm her right to dispose of the pups. I confirmed it solemnly. So we hastened to the stable yard and inspected the kennels, where the two mothers lay with their slithery tail-wagging broods. We discussed the points of each little beast and eventually decided on the one which should be Evadne's wedding present to General Lackaday and Lady Auriol Dayne. "Thanks ever so much, darling," said Evadne. "You are _so_ helpful."