"That's Wilmot Edge--Sir Randolph's brother."

"Oh, the deuce it is. I thought he'd been pilled."

Blackballs also were an embarrassing subject; Neeld sipped his
Apollinaris nervously.

"Well, as I was saying" (Lord Southend spoke a little lower), "she went
straight from the Duchess of Slough's ball to the station, as she was,
in a low gown and a scarlet opera cloak--met Edge, whose wife had only
been dead three months--and went off with him. You know the rest of the
story. It was a near run for young Harry Tristram! How is the boy,
Iver?"

"The boy's very much of a man indeed; we don't talk about the near run
before him."

Southend laughed. "A miss is as good as a mile," he said, "eh, Neeld?
I'd like to see Addie Tristram again--though I suppose she's a wreck,
poor thing!"

"Why couldn't she marry the man properly, instead of bolting?" asked
Iver. He did not approve of such escapades.

"Oh, he had to bolt anyhow--a thorough bad lot--debts, you know--her
people wouldn't hear of it; besides she was engaged to Fred Nares--you
don't remember Fred? A devilish passionate fellow, with a wart on his
nose. So altogether it was easier to cut and run. Besides she liked the
sort of thing, don't you know. Romantic and all that. Then Edge
vanished, and the other man appeared. That turned out all right, but she
ran it fine. Eh, Neeld?"

Mr Neeld was sadly flustered by these recurring references to him. He
had no desire to pose as an authority on the subject. Josiah
Cholderton's diary put him in a difficulty. He wished to goodness he had
been left to the peaceful delights of literary journalism.

"Well, if you'll come down to my place, I can promise to show you Harry
Tristram; and you can go over and see his mother if she's better."

"By Jove, I've half a mind to! Very kind of you, Iver. You've got a fine
place, I hear."

"I've built so many houses for other people that I may be allowed one
for myself, mayn't I? We're proud of our neighborhood," he pursued,
politely addressing himself to Mr Neeld. "If you're ever that way, I
hope you'll look me up. I shall be delighted to welcome a fellow-member
of the Imperium."

A short chuckle escaped from Lord Southend's lips; he covered it by an
exaggerated devotion to his broiled kidneys. Mr Neeld turned pink and
murmured incoherent thanks; he felt like a traitor.

"Yes, we see a good deal of young Harry," said Iver, with a smile--"and
of other young fellows about the place to