Those hours in London had been for Marie full of large and liberal thoughts. That moment in the train, when she saw the cloud drift away, had been one of intense relief, followed by strong, vague thankfulness. But at this dinner the feeling was one of deep, unanalysed, unthinking pleasure. Here was George looking his own kind, quiet, contented self again. Now and then he said a word to her; now and then she found his constant, frank eyes fixed upon her with their old expression of chivalric admiration and loyal devotion. Here was his mother, gracious and affectionate, and going out of her way to make Marie see that the future wife of George was approved of and highly welcomed. Here was gentle Kate, demurely happy, and looking now and then with a warning glance at Nevill when he burst forth with his usual audacity. All went well and pleasantly. At the beginning Nevill adopted a wise precaution--he said nothing of himself. He kept chiefly to the Red Man. He once knew a red man named Tomahawk Effendi. Tomahawk Effendi was a man over six feet in height, and as red as a new brick house. 'You remember Tomahawk Effendi, Osborne?' 'It was before I went to London,' said George. Kate glanced at Nevill. 'I did not know there were any Red Indians in London just now,' said Mrs Osborne. 'Only a few in the outskirts. They have been almost all shot down by this time.' 'My goodness, Mr Nevill, what do you mean? I have seen nothing about the massacre of Indians in London.' 'It was not what you might consider a massacre--' 'But you said shot.' 'I meant killed by London gin. "Pay the shot" means pay the score; and pay the score means pay for the drink. They are, in ethics, convertible terms, like _meum_ and _tuum_.' 'And are there really Red Indians in London?' 'In the suburbs only. There is a large tribe of them in Lordship Lane at present. Owing to the intense susceptibility of the United States Embassy, these aboriginal Red Indians have been compelled by the Government to pass themselves off as gipsies; but they are no more gipsies than I am a Caucasian. You remember, Osborne, the other day, on the occasion of that demonstration in Hyde Park in favour of abolishing the laws now regulating fishing on the Newfoundland banks? You remember one of those so-called gipsies spoke. He wound up by saying he had a home on the other side of the water as well as on this, "And by that right we will defend it?" cried the warrior, throwing down his tomahawk and raising the war-cry of his nation. You remember it surely, Osborne? It created quite a sensation at the time. You recollect it?' 'I have some recollection of the words.' 'It was a splendid speech. I am sure Miss Alice Osborne would have been delighted very much with it.' 'But,' said Alice, putting down her dessert-fork, 'you were going to tell us something about a man with a horrible name. Is this the man with the horrible name, or is this the horrible man without the name?'