t in public with her.
The General offered to take me there after the inaugural meeting of
the International Aid Society at Grosvenor House. I went, and saw them
together. I shall never forget the look in the boy's eyes till my dying
day. She has got him body and soul. One reads of such things in the
poets, one sees it in pictures; but I've never come across it in real
life--never, never. It's dreadful, horrible, revolting. To think that a
son of mine, brought up from babyhood to calculate all his actions
with mathematical precision, should be guilty of this profligacy! It's
driving me mad, Simon; it really is. I don't know what to do. I've come
to the end of my resources. It's your turn now. The boy worships you."

A wild appeal burned in her eyes and was refracted oddly through her
near-sighted spectacles. I had never seen her betray emotion before
during all the years of our friendship. The look and the tone of her
voice moved me. I expressed my sympathy and my readiness to do anything
in my power to snatch the infatuated boy from the claw and fang of the
syren and hale him to the forgiving feet of Maisie Ellerton. Indeed,
such a chivalrous adventure had vaguely passed through my mind during my
exalted mood at Murglebed-on-Sea. But then I knew little beyond the fact
that Dale was fluttering round an undesirable candle. Till now I had no
idea of the extent to which his wings were singed.

"Hasn't Dale spoken to you about this creature?" his mother asked.

"Young men of good taste keep these things from their elders, my dear
Lady Kynnersley," said I.

"But you knew of it?"

"In a dim sort of way."

"Oh, Simon--"

"The baby boys of Dale's set regard taking out the chorus to supper as
a solemn religious rite. They wouldn't think themselves respectable if
they didn't. I've done it myself--in moderation--when I was very young."

"Men are mysteries," sighed Lady Kynnersley.

"Please regard them as such," said I, with a laugh, "and let Dale alone.
Allow him to do whatever irrational thing he likes, save bringing the
lady here to tea. If you try to tear him away from her he'll only cling
to her the closer. If you trumpet abroad her infamy he'll proclaim her a
slandered and martyred saint. Leave him to me for the present."

"I'll do so gladly," said Lady Kynnersley, with surprising meekness.
"But you _will_ bring him back, Simon? I've arranged for him to marry
Maisie. I can't have my plans for the future upset."

B