n the last few minutes.

"He told me all about himself."

"And you found that interesting?"

"Why not?"

"Well..." A frigid half-smile came and went on Bruce Carmyle's dark
face. "My cousin has many excellent qualities, no doubt--he used to
play football well, and I understand that he is a capable amateur
pugilist--but I should not have supposed him entertaining. We find him a
little dull."

"I thought it was only royalty that called themselves 'we.'"

"I meant myself--and the rest of the family."

The mention of the family was too much for Sally. She had to stop
talking in order to allow her mind to clear itself of rude thoughts.

"Mr. Kemp was telling me about Mr. Scrymgeour," she went on at length.

Bruce Carmyle stared for a moment at the yard or so of French bread
which the waiter had placed on the table.

"Indeed?" he said. "He has an engaging lack of reticence."

The waiter returned bearing soup and dumped it down.

"V'la!" he observed, with the satisfied air of a man who has
successfully performed a difficult conjuring trick. He smiled at Sally
expectantly, as though confident of applause from this section of his
audience at least. But Sally's face was set and rigid. She had been
snubbed, and the sensation was as pleasant as it was novel.

"I think Mr. Kemp had hard luck," she said.

"If you will excuse me, I would prefer not to discuss the matter."

Mr. Carmyle's attitude was that Sally might be a pretty girl, but she
was a stranger, and the intimate affairs of the Family were not to be
discussed with strangers, however prepossessing.

"He was quite in the right. Mr. Scrymgeour was beating a dog..."

"I've heard the details."

"Oh, I didn't know that. Well, don't you agree with me, then?"

"I do not. A man who would throw away an excellent position simply
because..."

"Oh, well, if that's your view, I suppose it is useless to talk about
it."

"Quite."

"Still, there's no harm in asking what you propose to do about
Gin--about Mr. Kemp."

Mr. Carmyle became more glacial.

"I'm afraid I cannot discuss..."

Sally's quick impatience, nobly restrained till now, finally got the
better of her.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," she snapped, "do try to be human, and don't
always be snubbing people. You remind me of one of those portraits of
men in the eighteenth century, with wooden faces, who look out of
heavy gold frames at you with fishy eyes as if you were a regrettable
incident."

"Rosb