ister if you would dine with me."

Lord Z, who was at Balliol with me, you remember, said: "Then
perhaps you will allow us to come to your table for coffee,
Hogg?" Your mother gazed at him, astounded that his noble tongue
could utter the name. Then she actually and gracefully "fell"
for the dinner, lured by the bait of the post-prandial coffee
with the distinguished trio, and the Philadelphia aunt kept
things going serenely. She is a delightful person and will be a
perfect companion for your mother when--you know when--when she
needs one--and I no longer do!

("There never was a man who said things like Duke!" interpolated Dolly
ecstatically.)

All would have gone swimmingly to the end had not a page
suddenly entered the room bawling: "Mr. Hogg wanted at the
telephone: Mr. Hogg? Telephone message for Mr. HOGG!"

Only capitals can give an idea of the volume of voice. My
ear-drum, grown painfully sensitive since I met your mother,
echoed and reechoed with the tone as I threaded my way through
the crowded room, followed by every eye, while I imagined people
saying: "I wonder if he's called to the stockyard?" (It is
queer, but I never felt this way in Oxford, for they still
remember Hogg, the Scottish poet, and I hung myself to his
revered coat-tails.)

The telephone message was from my secretary, and healed my
wounded vanity, for it came from the British Embassy conveying
the thanks of the Foreign Office for Mr. Hogg's friendly and
helpful action in conducting negotiations for the chartering of
ex-enemy ships lying in South American ports.

("You see what he is!" exclaimed Dolly, looking up from the letter
with eyes full of unshed tears! "Of course he has five or six
superiors in office but I suppose really that Duke's extraordinary
talent keeps that whole shipping board going! You mark my words,
Charlotte, when Duke gives up his position and goes to Plattsburg
there'll be an absolute slump in that office! But just hear what
follows; it is so discouraging!")

But when, glowing with the delight that always comes to me when
I have any little tribute to lay with my love at your charming
number-three feet, when I returned to my table your mother had
gone to her room and the Philadelphia aunt remained to explain
that she had been taken suddenly ill.

"It will all come right, Mr.--my dear boy!" she said. "My sister
has one weakness, an abnormal sensitive