Considering that a woman--especially a young woman--judges a man almost entirely by his manner and appearance, and dislikes him exceedingly if he proceeds to dominate the situation to her exclusion--unless, by the way, he has her permission and authority so to do, in which case he cannot do so too much--the verdict delivered upon my absent secretary was not by any means unfavourable, though, of course, there was much to criticise. "He'll do," said Dilly; "but you must get his hair cut, Adrian." "And tell him about not wearing that sort of tie, dear," said Dolly. "I suppose he can't help his accent," sighs Kitty. But their criticisms were limited to such trifles as these, and I felt that Robin had done me credit. Dilly summed up the situation. "I think on the whole that he is rather a pet," she said. A more thoroughly unsuitable description could not have been imagined, but Dolly agreed. "He has nice eyes, too," she added. "He was perfectly sweet with Phillis after lunch," said Kitty. "Took her on his knee at once, and talked to her just as if we weren't there. That's a good test of a man, if you like!" "True for you," I agreed. "I could not do it with other people's children to save my life." "Oh, you are hopeless," said Dilly. "_Far_ too self-conscious and dignified to climb down to the level of children, isn't he, Dolly?" She crinkled her nose. Dolly for once was not listening. "What was that weird stuff the Secretary Bird spouted when you showed Phillis to him, Kit? About her being forward, or coy, or something. It sounded rather cheek, to me." "Yes, I remember," said Dilly. "Can you do the way he said it? 'Sometimes forrrwarrrd, sometimes coy, she neverrr fails to pullllease!' Like that! Gracious, how it hurts to talk Scotch!" "I don't know, dear," said my wife thoughtfully. "It sounded rather quaint. But I daresay all Scotch people are like that," she added charitably. "Perhaps it was a quotation," I observed mildly. "Of course, that would be it. What is it out of?" "A song called 'Phillis is my only Joy,' I think." "Ah, then you may depend upon it," said Kitty, with the air of one solving a mystery, "that is what the man was doing--_quoting_! Burns, probably, or Scott, perhaps. How clever of him to think of it! And do you know," she continued, "he said such a nice thing to me. While you were bear-fighting with the Twins after lunch, Adrian, I said to him: 'Pity me, Mr Fordyce! My husband never ceases to express to me his regret that he did not marry one of my sisters.' And he answered at once, quite seriously, without stopping to think it out or anything:--'I am sure, Mrs Inglethwaite, that his regret must be shared by countless old admirers of yours!' Wasn't it rather sweet of him?" Further conversation was prevented by the opening of the drawing-room door, where the butler appeared and announced "Mr Dubberley."