ce of suavity left him.

"I shall do nothing of the kind," he said briefly. "I sail to-morrow."

Uncle Donald had had a previous experience of being defied by a nephew,
but it had not accustomed him to the sensation. He was aware of an
unpleasant feeling of impotence. Nothing is harder than to know what to
do next when defied.

"Eh?" he said.

Mr. Carmyle having started to defy, evidently decided to make a good job
of it.

"I am over twenty-one," said he. "I am financially independent. I shall
do as I please."

"But, consider!" pleaded Uncle Donald, painfully conscious of the
weakness of his words. "Reflect!"

"I have reflected."

"Your position in the county..."

"I've thought of that."

"You could marry anyone you pleased."

"I'm going to."

"You are determined to go running off to God-knows-where after this Miss
I-can't-even-remember-her-dam-name?"

"Yes."

"Have you considered," said Uncle Donald, portentously, "that you owe a
duty to the Family."

Bruce Carmyle's patience snapped and he sank like a stone to absolutely
Gingerian depths of plain-spokenness.

"Oh, damn the Family!" he cried.

There was a painful silence, broken only by the relieved sigh of the
armchair as Uncle Donald heaved himself out of it.

"After that," said Uncle Donald, "I have nothing more to say."

"Good!" said Mr. Carmyle rudely, lost to all shame.

"'Cept this. If you come back married to that girl, I'll cut you in
Piccadilly. By George, I will!"

He moved to the door. Bruce Carmyle looked down his nose without
speaking. A tense moment.

"What," asked Uncle Donald, his fingers on the handle, "did you say it
was called?"

"What was what called?"

"That whisky."

"O'Rafferty Special."

"And wherj get it?"

"Bilby's, in Oxford Street."

"I'll make a note of it," said Uncle Donald.

CHAPTER XVI. AT THE FLOWER GARDEN

1

"And after all I've done for her," said Mr. Reginald Cracknell, his
voice tremulous with self-pity and his eyes moist with the combined
effects of anguish and over-indulgence in his celebrated private stock,
"after all I've done for her she throws me down."

Sally did not reply. The orchestra of the Flower Garden was of a calibre
that discouraged vocal competition; and she was having, moreover,
too much difficulty in adjusting her feet to Mr. Cracknell's erratic
dance-steps to employ her attention elsewhere. They manoeuvred jerkily
past the table where Miss Mabel Hobso