ect with an unprovoked halo of religious
meekness, and to work round to the conclusion that it would be
presumptuous not to ask Mr. Bradshaw to dinner. Only this resulted
absolutely and entirely from her refusing to have her three children
all vaccinated from the calf forthwith, because their grandmother
thought it necessary. The latter, finding herself deserted in her hour
of need by a powerful ally--for three whole children had given Clarissa
a deep insight into social ethics, and a weighty authority--surrendered
grudgingly. She tried her best to make her invitation to dinner take
the form of leave to come to dinner, and partly succeeded. Her
suggestions that she hoped Mr. Bradshaw would understand the rules of
the game at the table of Society caused the defection of her remaining
confederate, Athene, who turned against her, exclaiming: "He won't eat
with his knife, at any rate!" However, it was too late to influence
current events. The battle was fought and over.

The obnoxious young man didn't eat with his knife when he came, with
docility, a day after he received the invitation. Remember, he appears
originally in this story as a chosen of Cattley's, one warranted to
defy detection by the best-informed genteelologist. He went through
his ordeal very well, on the whole, considering that Egerton (from
friendship) was always on the alert to give him tips about civilised
conduct, and that Mrs. Wilson called him nearly every known dissyllabic
name with _A_'s in it--Brathwaite, Palgrave, Bradlaugh, Playfair, and
so on, but not Bradshaw. She did this the more as she never addressed
him directly, treating him without disguise as the third-person
singular in a concrete form. This was short-sighted, because it
stimulated her husband to a tone of civility which would probably
have risen to deference if the good lady had not just stopped short
of insult.

Egerton and the only other male guest (who was the negative young
pianist known to Sally as Somebody Elsley) having found it convenient
to go away at smoking-time to inspect the latter's bicycle, the
Professor seized his opportunity for conversation with the
third-person-singular. He approached the subject abruptly:

"Well, it's Laetitia, I understand, that we're making up to, eh?"
Perhaps it was this sudden conversion to the first person plural that
made the young man blush up to the roots of his hair.

"What can I say?" he asked hesitatingly. "You see, Professor Wilson,