ing at, old thing. The watchword is 'What ho, the
mater!' yes, no? You've begun to get a sort of idea that if Jill
doesn't watch her step, she's apt to sink pretty low in the betting,
what? I know exactly what you mean! You and I know all right that
Jill's a topper. But one can see that to your mater she might seem a
bit different. I mean to say, your jolly old mater only judging by
first impressions, and the meeting not having come off quite as
scheduled.... I say, old man," he broke off, "fearfully sorry and all
that about that business. You know what I mean! Wouldn't have had it
happen for the world. I take it the mater was a trifle peeved? Not to
say perturbed and chagrined? I seemed to notice it at dinner."

"She was furious, of course. She did not refer to the matter when we
were alone together, but there was no need to. I knew what she was
thinking."

Derek threw away his cigar. Freddie noted this evidence of an
overwrought soul with concern.

"The whole thing," he conceded, "was a bit unfortunate."

Derek began to pace the room.

"Freddie."

"On the spot, old man."

"Something's got to be done."

"Absolutely!" Freddie nodded solemnly. He had taken this matter
greatly to heart. Derek was his best friend, and he had always been
extremely fond of Jill. It hurt him to see things going wrong. "I'll
tell you what, old bean. Let _me_ handle this binge for you."

"You?"

"Me! The Final Rooke!" He jumped up, and leaned against the
mantelpiece. "I'm the lad to do it. I've known Jill for years. She'll
listen to me. I'll talk to her like a Dutch uncle and make her
understand the general scheme of things. I'll take her out to tea
to-morrow and slang her in no uncertain voice! Leave the whole thing
to _me_, laddie!"

Derek considered.

"It might do some good," he said.

"Good?" said Freddie. "It's _it_, dear boy! It's a wheeze! You toddle
off to bed and have a good sleep. I'll fix the whole thing for you!"

CHAPTER V

LADY UNDERHILL RECEIVES A SHOCK

I

There are streets in London into which the sun seems never to
penetrate. Some of these are in fashionable quarters, and it is to be
supposed that their inhabitants find an address which looks well on
note-paper a sufficient compensation for the gloom that goes with it.
The majority, however, are in the mean neighbourhoods of the great
railway termini, and appear to offer no compensation whatever. They
are lean, furtive streets, grey as the Janu