He had a whole series of criticisms utterly destructive of Lord Manton’s hypothesis. He had seen the Members of Parliament. He felt that he knew them. He found it impossible to imagine their breaking out into wild Bohemianism, sickening of respectability, rebelling against the monotony of any woman, however ordinary. There was Mr. Dick, who had bounded out of the railway carriage, volatile, debonnair, gay with familiar quotations. There was Mr. Sanders, rigid, mathematical, a little morose on account of his weak heart. Lord Manton might conceivably find an ordinary woman maddening; but Mr. Dick, once he began, would go on kissing her contentedly for years and years. He would appreciate the way in which his dinner was cooked for him. Mr. Sanders would appreciate that too. He might be a little exacting, would, no doubt, expect his weak heart to be taken seriously, would put a woman in her proper place in the settled order of things, and keep her there. But both Mr. Dick and Mr. Sanders would recognize that a woman must be allowed to wash her teeth. They would not resent the noise of the water gurgling in her mouth. They would both know that women must comb their hair, and that a red dressing-gown is a suitable and convenient garment under certain circumstances. They would not be angry when they were told about the misdeeds of maid-servants, a trying and exhausting class to deal with. They were men with well-balanced minds, men of practical common sense, men who would not fly blindly in the face of facts. They were not the men to run away from their wives, or even from their aunts. “But----” he began again. Lord Manton lit a fresh cigarette, his fourth, and waited. Mr. Goddard sought for words in which to express his feelings. He might have found them in time, but time was not given him. Wilkins entered the room. “There is a lady to see you, sir,” he said to Mr. Goddard. “I showed her into the small drawing-room. She said she wished to see you particular.” “Good God!” said Mr. Goddard. “It’s Miss Blow!” “Is it Miss Blow?” said Lord Manton to Wilkins. “Don’t attempt to break the news to him if it is. Tell him straight out. It’s kinder in the end.” “It’s the same young lady,” said Wilkins, “that called on your lordship two days ago.” “The young lady that was talking about bringing a corpse here? I told you, I remember, to get white flowers from the gardener. Is it that young lady?” “Yes, my lord.” “And has she brought it this time?” “Not that I saw, my lord.” “If you didn’t see it, Wilkins, I think we may take it for granted that it isn’t there.” “Damn that girl!” said Mr. Goddard. “You’d think I had enough on my hands without her.” “From the way you’re speaking of her,” said Lord Manton, “I suppose you don’t feel inclined to go into the drawing-room and offer to marry her. That, as I said before, is the proper thing for you to do. If you won’t, the only other course I see open to you is to get away out of this as fast as you can.”