"Come and sit down again. There, that’s right. Oh, I shall want a Social Prompter that evening!" he gave a quizzical little chuckle. "Now listen, my dear. I’m a rude man. Oh, yes, I am," as she politely refuted his statement. "A good many ladies have told me so. I never speak to the people I should speak to, and I speak to those I shouldn’t. Well, there will be a good many ladies present on Wednesday, and I must speak to them all and I must say just about as many words to one as the other. Now, my sister was to have been hostess, and she gives me a sign whom I’m to accost next, and so on. But her little boy has the measles, and she won’t come up to town. Do you see?" "Oh, yes!" Sheila Pat’s face was intent. "I’ll turn up my nose at the ladies you’ve spoken to, and smile at the ones you haven’t." "Well—hardly that. The ladies whom you turned your nose up at might be hurt, you know. Let me see, now. I think if you come quietly up to me every now and then, and suggest what group I shall join— How will that do?" "Yes," said Sheila Pat. She put out her hand and gave his arm an ecstatic little squeeze. "I did want to see Denis get the prize." "But perhaps he won’t." "Oh, yes, he will. He’s Irish, you see. Good-bye. I’m very much ’bliged." "Not at all. It’s I who should say that. I’m coming out. We’ll start together." With infinite tact he invented the need of tobacco, because he knew there was a tobacconist’s near the top of Henley Road. He never smoked any but a particular brand that he procured at a particular shop, and that evening his man was gratified by the present of a tin of tobacco. He bade the Atom good-bye at the top of her road, and looking after the sedate little back, he smiled. Such an immense dignity was there in that small back view of Sheila Pat that it was difficult to associate her with the severe scolding to which she knew she was walking. *CHAPTER XII* "Four half crowns is ten bob. Sarah, if ever I catch you carrying that heavy coal-box up to our room again, I’ll give you a month’s warning and pack you off without a day’s notice! "Nell," entering the Stronghold, "to-day is Saturday. Old Tellbridge, gazing at my interesting countenance, pale from overwork and perhaps tired of my unfortunate method of making two and two tot up to five or three, let me off early. The pit of a theatre is peopled nowadays by a most respectable and worthy—" "A theatre? Oh, Denis! Which? What?" "My dears, do not shout. ’Tis vulgar. You’ve heard of a play called ’Monsieur Beaucaire.’ Softly—softly. And James, there are no—er—butterflies in K.K.’s coat, I assure you. Yes, Atom, we _are_ going! Yes, we must start _at once_! Lancaster says it’s going very strong. We’ll have to wait outside ages. As our aunt is not at home, I would suggest a raid on the kitchen, and then flight." Nell said demurely:—