Somehow, Klondyke hardly felt inclined. For one thing, the slow but sure growth of the Foreign Office manner, which he was able to detect in his younger brother every time he returned from his wanderings, always seemed to rattle him a bit. Of course Otto was a first-rate chap according to his lights; still, Klondyke was the elder, and if questions must be asked he did not feel bound to answer them. A mild but concentrated gaze conveyed as much. "Ted Ambrose brought him here," said the Prince, with a nice feeling for these nuances. "A good chap, I dare say ... quite a good chap ... but..." The mild gaze was still concentrated, but if possible more limpid. "... but somehow a little ... Mother thinks so, anyway." "Oh, yes, I dare say," said Klondyke, with a casualness that rather annoyed the Prince. "Fact is ... I might as well tell you..." The tone of the Prince implied nothing less than a taking of the bull by the horns. "We all think Mary is inclined to ... to..." With nice deliberation, Klondyke laid "The Adventures of Dick Smith" on the hearthrug. "Mother thinks," said the Prince plaintively, after a pause, "it would be better if he didn't come to the house so much." Klondyke frowned heavily and tapped his pipe on a fire-dog. "How long's he been coming here?" he asked. "Some little time now." Klondyke still frowned. "Mother thinks," said the plaintive Prince, "that Mary sees far too much of him. And I rather agree with her." "Why?" asked Klondyke stolidly. "Why?" repeated his younger brother, looking at him with wary amazement. "Well, to start with, he ain't a gentleman." Klondyke tapped his pipe again. "I don't mind telling you," said the Prince, "we all think she is making a perfect idiot of herself." "What's Ted Ambrose think?" "I've not asked him, but I believe mother has mentioned the matter." "What did he say?" "She thought he seemed a good deal worried." Klondyke's frown had assumed terrific dimensions. "She's old enough to take care of herself, anyway," he said, beginning abruptly to refill a foul briar from a small tin box that he unexpectedly evolved from the pocket of his trousers. "That's hardly the point, is it?" said the Prince, with a deference he didn't feel. "What is the point?" asked Klondyke, striking a wooden match on the sole of his shoe. "Mother has mentioned the matter to Uncle George, and he thinks the chap ought not to come here." "Oh, that's rot," said Klondyke coolly. "That's like the old fool." "I'm afraid I agree ... with Uncle George, I mean ... and so does Silvia." "What's Ted Ambrose think about it? He generally knows the lie of a country." "He'd give no opinion to mother. But he was certainly worried."