"I am in no scrape, Richard. I don't get into scrapes," replied his father. He shifted from one foot to the other uneasily. "I was wondering, Richard--you have been away all this last year, haven't you?--I was wondering whether you could give me any of your summer." Dick looked at his father. What in the world was the old boy up to now? he asked himself. "Of course I can. I shall get my leave in a day or two. I thought of playing some polo here and there. There are a few matches arranged. Then no doubt--" He broke off. "But look here, sir! You didn't send me an urgent telegram merely to ask me that." "No, Richard, no." Everybody else called his son Dick, but Harold Hazlewood never. He was Richard. From Richard you might expect much, the awakening of a higher nature, a devotion to the regeneration of the world, humanitarianism, even the cult of all the "antis." From Dick you could expect nothing but health and cleanliness and robustious conventionality. Therefore Richard Captain Hazlewood of the Coldstream and the Staff Corps remained. "No, there was something else." Mr. Hazlewood took his son by the arm and led him into the bay window. He pointed across the field to the thatched cottage. "You know who lives there?" "No." "Mrs. Ballantyne." Dick put his head on one side and whistled softly. He knew the general tenor of that _cause celebre_. Mr. Hazlewood raised remonstrating hands. "There! You are like the rest, Richard. You take the worst view. Here is a good woman maligned and slandered. There is nothing against her. She was acquitted in open trial by a jury of responsible citizens under a judge of the Highest Court in India. Yet she is left alone--like a leper. She is the victim of gossip and _such_ gossip. Richard," said the old man solemnly, "for uncharitableness, ill-nature and stupid malice the gossip of a Sussex village leaves the most deplorable efforts of Voltaire and Swift entirely behind." "Father, you _are_ going it," said Dick with a chuckle. "Do you mean to give me a step-mother?" "I do not, Richard. Such a monstrous idea never entered my thoughts. But, my boy, I have called upon her." "Oh, you have!" "Yes. I have seen her too. I left a card. She left one upon me. I called again. I was fortunate." "She was in?" "She gave me tea, Richard." Richard cocked his head on one side. "What's she like, father? Topping?" "Richard, she gave me tea," said the old man, dwelling insistently upon his repetition. "So you said, sir, and it was most kind of her to be sure. But that fact won't help me to form even the vaguest picture of her looks." "But it will, Richard," Mr. Hazlewood protested with a nervousness which set Dick wondering again. "She gave me tea. Therefore, don't you see, I must return the hospitality, which I do with the utmost eagerness. Richard, I look to you to help me. We must champion that slandered lady. You will see her for yourself. She is coming here to luncheon."