"I'm scratched for that running," she answered serenely. "It's not for nothing all the surrounding whelps--of your kidney, Bob, and others-- have labelled me `Damages.' But Delia--well she's, so to say, fresh on the scene, and then, the adventure business gives her a first-rate send off. I think this job might be worked. Now, Delia, let's have your opinion on it for a change. I'm tired of Bob's." "My opinion is that never in my life have I wasted half-an-hour listening to such perfectly unutterable bosh as you two have been talking--no, never," was the reply, short and emphatic; "and I don't want to hear any more of it." Clytie pursed up her very pretty lips and whistled meditatively. The while she eyed her sister narrowly and read her like a book. As a matter of fact the latter had not been so indifferent to their conversation as she would have had them believe. Listening, her heart had thrilled to a strange, wild venture of a hope, only to drop it, a dead weight, as she thought of her relatives. Had they but met in a new country far away from all such associations--well, who knew. To do her justice, it was of the man she thought, the man entirely, and apart from his circumstances and surroundings; indeed, she almost hated these, as constituting an insurmountable barrier. "As for saying `look at them and look at us,'" pursued Clytie, "why, from all accounts, Mrs Wagram Wagram Number One was no very great shakes." "All the more reason why the said W.W. isn't going to be such a fool as to repeat the experiment," said Bob. "By the way, didn't she shoot herself in mistake for him, or something?" "No; took too much morphia by mistake, and died. It was the only good thing she ever did for him, for she used to lead him the very devil of a life. She was a holy terror, from all accounts." "And so you think he'll be such an ass as to risk it again, do you?" "Certainly, my dear Bob. As I said before, a man is always--a man-- otherwise an ass. The thing stares you in the face every day." "P'raps it does. Well, chip in, Delia. Chip in for all you know how. We'll help you for all we do. By George, though, you'll have to begin by turning Papist!" "Hilversea Court's worth turning anything for," murmured Clytie. "Oh, and there's the ready-made step-son," went on the odious Bob. "We're forgetting him. How old is the young 'un, Clytie? About twelve, isn't he?" The query ended _staccato_. The ways of Siege House were strange and summary, wherefore Delia, exasperated beyond endurance, had picked up a heavy rubber golosh, one of a pair that stood in the hall, and had launched it full and straight at the head of the offending youth, who barely escaped by a prompt dive. In the midst of which sounded a ring of the front gate bell. "Now, who the very deuce can that be?" remarked Clytie. "Maybe the old man's come in `fresh,' and can't fit his key," jeered Bob.