"An awful crew," his verdict ran. "The Past Participle (Mrs. Clutterbuck) can’t open her poor little timid mouth but the Split Infinitive is roaring at her. Consequently she keeps as silent as the grave." "Will you kindly explain?" said Mrs. Leighton patiently. "It’s a long time since I studied grammar in that intimate way. What is the Split Infinitive and why the Past Participle?" "It’s like this, Mrs. Leighton, simple when you know--or when you are married to a brute like Clutterbuck," said Lance mischievously. "I beg your pardon. I know I ought to say that he is a genius and all that sort of thing. But ’brute’ seems more explicit." "Go on with your story," said Mrs. Leighton. "Well--Clutterbuck married Mrs. Clutterbuck." "That’s generally the end of a story, isn’t it?" asked Jean. Lance was not to be interrupted. "Trust a boy for gossip," exclaimed Betty. "Fire away, Lance." "My aunt knew them," said Lance. "She, Mrs. C., was a little dear, awfully pink and pretty you know, and Clutterbuck, a big raw thin thing with wild sort of hair and dreamy manners. Well, they were awfully proud and pleased with themselves, and started off for their honeymoon like two happy babies." "Will you kindly tell me how you knew this?" asked Mrs. Leighton helplessly. "I heard my aunt telling my mother," said Lance. "There’s a gleam in your eye which I don’t quite trust," Elma remarked sedately. "Go on." "Everything went well," exclaimed Lance, "until one morning when Mrs. C., all rosy and chiffony you know, said ’My dear Theo, I don’t remember to ever have been so happy.’ Clutterbuck rose from the table, as pale as death. She cried, ’Theo, Theo, tell me, what is wrong?’ ’Wrong,’ cried Professor Clutterbuck, ’you have used the Split Infinitive!’ Gospel, Mrs. Leighton," said Lance as a wind-up. "She’s been the Past Participle ever since." There was this amount of truth in Lance’s story: that Dr. Clutterbuck was distinguished in his own career as Professor of Geology, that his English was irreproachable; and that Mrs. Clutterbuck had practically no English, since she was hardly ever known to speak at all. She shunned society; and the same introspective gaze of the Professor, which had skimmed the Leighton drawing-room and found there only the striking personality of Mr. Leighton, skimmed his own home in a like abstracted manner, and took no notice of the most striking personality in Ridgetown--Elsie, his daughter. It was the black cat episode which precipitated the nickname of "The Serpent." Lance had always declared that this girl had an understanding with animals which was nothing short of uncanny. He happened to read _Elsie Venner_, and the names being alike, and temperament on similar lines, he immediately christened her the Serpent. He caught her out at numberless pranks which were never reported to the diligent ears of Betty and May. One was that she had climbed to his bedroom and purloined a suit of clothes.