“My husband was obliged to dine out to-night; unfortunately. I hope he’ll be here in a moment, but he may be kept, as there are to be some dreadful speeches afterwards. I can’t think why elderly men always want to get up and talk nonsense about the Royal family after a heavy dinner. It’s so bad for the digestion and the--ah, Sir Donald! Sweet of you to turn up. Your boy’s been so unkind. I asked him to call, or he asked to call, and he’s never been near me.” Miss Schley drifted away and was swallowed by the crowd. Sir Donald had arrived at the top of the stairs. “Leo’s been away in Scotland ever since he had the pleasure of meeting you. He only came back to-night.” “Then I’m not quite so hurt. He’s always running about, I suppose, to kill things, like my husband.” “He does manage a good deal in that way. If you are going to the Arkell House ball you’ll meet him there. He and his wife are both--” “How did do! Oh, Charley, I never expected to see you. I thought it wasn’t the thing for the 2nd to turn up at little hay parties like this. Kitty Barringlave is in the far room, dreadfully bored. Go and cheer her up. Tell her what’ll win the Cup. She’s pale and peaky with ignorance about Ascot this year. Both going to Arkell House, Sir Donald, did you say? Bring your son to me, won’t you? But of course you’re a wise man trotting off to bed.” “No. The Duke is a very old friend of mine, and so--” “Perfect. We’ll meet then. They say it’s really locomotor ataxia, poor fellow I but--ah, there’s Fritz!”