up their minds for 'em, I don't know what will."

Then he paused suddenly.

"Gad! Will the women have hysterics?" he asked, but in a moment he
added, reassuring himself, "Maud never has, and, hang it, we must
chance the rest."

Arrived at home he found Arthur Laing kicking his heels in the
smoking-room.

"Lunching with you to-day, ain't I, somewhere in the Palais-Royal?"
asked the visitor.

"Yes, some place the General's found out. Look here, Laing, are you a
nervous man?"

"Nervous! What do you take me for?"

"Lose your head in moments of excitement?"

"I never have 'em."

"Oh, well, hang you! I say, Laing, you're not a fool. Just look here.
Anything I say--anything, mind--at lunch today, you're not to
contradict. You're to back me up."

"Right you are, old chap."

"And the more infernal nonsense it sounds, the more you're to take your
oath about it."

"I'm there."

"And finally, you're on no account to lay a finger either on Miss
Travers or on Dora Bellairs."

"Hullo! I'm not in the habit of beating women at any time, let alone at
a lunch-party."

"I mean what I say: you're not to touch either of them. If you do
you'll spoil it. You're to go for Miss Bussey."

"She's not done me any harm."

"Never mind. As soon as the row begins and I say, 'Save the ladies!'
you collar Miss Bussey. See?"

"Oh, I see. Seems to me we're going to have a lively lunch. Am I to
carry the old lady?"

"Yes."

"Oh, by Jove! How's my biceps? Just feel, will you?"

Deane felt and gravely pronounced the muscle to be equal to its task.
Laing was much gratified, and awaited the unknown future with
philosophic patience.

Sir Roger had predicted "a jolly lunch," but, in its early stages, the
entertainment hardly earned this description. Something was wrong
somewhere; Dora started by refusing, very pointedly, to sit near
Charlie Ellerton; and yet, when she found herself between Ashforth and
Laing, she was absent, silent, and melancholy. Charlie, on the other
hand, painfully practised a labored attentiveness to Mary Travers which
contrasted ill with his usual spontaneous and gay courtesy. Miss Bussey
wore an air of puzzled gravity, and Laing kept looking at her with a
calculating eye. He seemed to be seeking the best grip. Lady Deane and
the General, engrossed in a tete-a-tete discussion, did little to
promote the hilarity of the table, and it was left to Deane to maintain
the flow of conversation as he best could. App