“But look at the position! I hate to be mercenary and talk about money, but you know, my dear thing, almost every bob I’ve got is invested in the three musical comedies now running, and if things go on as they are, every one of them will be shut down because of the coal strike. That’s a jolly nice lookout. I’m no Spartan, and I confess that I find it very difficult to be merry and bright among the gravestones of my hopes.” And while he went on like that, dropping in many “my dears” and “you dear things” as though he had known Feo all his life, instead of more or less for twenty minutes, making gestures in imitation of those of the spoilt small-part lady, Lord Amesbury’s daughter and Fallaray’s wife became gradually more and more aware of the fact that she had made a fool of herself. There was something broadly déclassé about this man which, even to one of her homogeneous nature, became a reproach. She was getting, she could see, a little careless in her choice of friends and for this one, whom she had picked out of semi-society and the musical comedy night life of London—so dull, so naked, so hungry and thirsty and so diamond seeking—to play the yellow dog and find excuses for his lack of entertainment left her, she found with astonishment, wholly without adjectives. It was indeed altogether beyond words. And she sat watching and listening to this vain and brainless person with a sort of admiration for his audacity. As for Dowth and Mrs. Malwood they, too, were not hitting it off, and in reply to Mrs. Malwood’s impatient question the young Welshman’s answer had many points of excuse. “Three of my mines have been flooded,” he said gravely, “which knocks my future income all cock-eyed. God knows how I shall emerge from this frightful business. A week ago I was one of the richest men in England. To-day I face pauperism. It’s appalling. You expect me to sit at your feet and make love to you with the sword of Damocles hanging over my head. It can’t be done, Mrs. Malwood. And, mind you, even if the remainder of my mines escape ruin, I go under. That’s as plain as the nose on my face. The Government, always in terror of labor, has been amazingly supported in this business by the whole sanity of England, but the end of it will be that the miners will be given less wages but large shares in the profits of the coal owners. I shall probably be able to make a better living by becoming a miner myself. You sit there petulant and annoyed because I am in the depths of despondency. You’ll cry out for cake when bread has run out, like all the women of your kind, but you see in me a doomed man unable to raise a finger to save property which has been in my family for several generations. I simply can’t jibber and giggle and crack jokes with you and talk innuendoes. I was a fool to come down at all.” “Oh,” said Mrs. Malwood aghast. “Oh—I suppose you think that I ought to amuse _you_?” “Yes, I do,” said Dowth.