"I was playing polo," he explained. Dorothy, having an idea that polo was nearly as dangerous as bull-fighting, shuddered. "I say, do you feel a draught?" inquired the host, anxiously. "Oh no, it's delicious here." A voice from the quad was shouting "Tony," and Dorothy, remembering Anthony from Debrett, could not resist telling Clarehaven that he was being called. Clarehaven was moving over to the window to discourage whoever was demanding his presence, when another voice came clearly up through the June air. "Shut up, Ridgway! Tony's lunching some does, you silly ass!" Dorothy could not help thinking that Sylvia ought to have pretended not to hear this allusion instead of bursting out into what was really a vulgar peal of laughter. "I think there _is_ a draught," said Mr. Tufton, closing the windows so gravely that one felt much of his inmost meditation was devoted to the tactful handling of moments like this. "Are these your sisters?" Dorothy asked, picking up a photograph of two girls, each holding a foxhound. "Yes, those are my sisters Bella and Connie," Clarehaven replied. "They're awful keen on puppy-walking." Perhaps, after all, abbreviations were sometimes tolerable, and names like Arabella and Constantia were rather long. "Isn't your second name Gilbert?" she asked. "Yes. Dreadful infliction, isn't it?" Dorothy decided not to say that her father's name was Gilbert, to which she had been leading up, and took her seat at table, noticing with pleasure that the full moon of the house of Clare adorned the silver. After lunch they looked at albums of snapshots, during the examination of which Mr. Tufton was most useful, because he was continually saying: "By Jove! Isn't that Lady Connie?" or: "By Gad! Isn't that the covert where Lady Bella got her left and right last October?" or: "Hello! I see Lady Clarehaven has followed my advice about the pergola." If Mr. Tufton could advise countesses as stately as the Countess of Clarehaven and refer to the daughters of an earl as Lady Bella and Lady Connie, what might not Dorothy do with patience and discretion? Meanwhile she took no risks, and if she had to mention the members of her host's family she alluded to them as "your mother" or "your elder sister" or "your younger sister." "But what a glorious place Clare Court must be!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I don't know," said the owner of it. "The train service is absolutely rotten." "You'll have your new car this vac.," Mr. Tufton reminded him. "I wrote the firm a very strong letter yesterday." Then seeing that his friend was growing gloomy at the prospect of Devonshire even with a new car, he suggested a stroll round Meadows, and cleverly arranged to lag behind with Sylvia. Clarehaven when he was alone with Dorothy did not find much more to say, but he was able to look at her with a more open admiration than when his glances had been disconcerted by Sylvia's monocle.