“Sir Edwin Crathie! Do you mean the Cabinet Minister?” “So he said.” “And did you tell him who you were?” Again there was a gleam under the lowered lashes. “I did; but I can’t say he either recognised our historie name or seemed much impressed. I really don’t believe he had ever heard of me.” Dudley refused to smile. Instead the frown deepened on his face. “That is probably just as well. Your actions of late cannot be said to be entirely to your credit. What is this tale about Thursday night? I met St. Quintin’s father with Uncle Bruce this morning in the Park. You told me Quin’s aunt was going to chaperone you. Did she or did she not?” “I told you Lady Bounce was going to chaperone me. Lady Bounce _did_ chaperone me.” “Is Lady Bounce Quin’s aunt?” “That depends.” Hal pushed away her chair, wishing vaguely that fathers and uncles would mind their own business. Either incident alone she could have coped with, but it was a distinct imposition to expect her to manage both at once, and on Sunday night into the bargain. “I can only presume you lent yourself to such a vulgar proceeding as Quin dressing up as a woman and acting chaperone. Is that the truth?” “Not entirely. You see, he wasn’t an ordinary woman. He went as his aunt, Lady Phyllis Fenton. His personification was a masterpiece.” Dudley began to pace the room. His thin lips were compressed into a straight line, and his whole air distincly worried. “What you seem quite unable to perceive is the way in which these incidents reflect upon your good taste and upon my guardianship.” Hal grew suddenly nettled. “It is nonsense to talk of guardianship now. I am twenty-five, and I earn my own living. I am perfectly well able to take care of myself.” “No; that is just what you are not. You are so rash and inconsequent.” “Well, anyhow I get a good deal out of my life, while you—” He remembered his own Thursday evening and intercepted: “It is possible to get a great deal out of life without outraging every convention. Do you imagine either Ethel or Doris Hayward would do the wild things you do?” “Ethel Hayward is a brick. She couldn’t be straitlaced anyhow, nor narrow-minded. Doris would do anything under the sun that suited her own ends.” She got up, and turned away without perceiving his frown, beginning to gather up her paraphernalia. He stopped short in his walk. “If it really was Sir Edwin Crathie who brought you home, I must write and thank him, I think.” “I shouldn’t bother; probably it wasn’t him at all; only some third-rate actor.” Dudley tried to see her face, not sure if she was serious or not, but she kept her head averted as she added: “Quite possibly it was Lord Bounce.” “You are always treating a serious subject with levity,” he complained. “What am I to think? Do you or do you not believe your escort was Sir Edwin Crathie?” “Well, as he was awfully afraid I might be a militant suffragette, I think he really was a Cabinet Minister.”