e you going to see her?"

"Mrs. Schley? I daresay."

"Well, you remember what I tell you. She'll be as dry as a dog-biscuit,
wear a cap and spectacles with gold rims, and say nothing but 'Oh,
my, yes indeed!' to everything that's said to her. Does she come from
Susanville?"

"How extraordinary! I believe she does."

Leo Ulford's laugh was triumphant and prolonged.

"That's where they breed marmars!" he exclaimed, when he was able to
speak. "Women are stunning."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand," said Lady Holme, preserving a
quiet air of pupilage. "But perhaps it's better I shouldn't. Anyhow, I
am quite sure Miss Schley's mother will be worthy of her daughter."

"You may bet your bottom dollar on that. She'll be what they call 'a
sootable marmar.' I must get my wife to shoot a card on her."

"I hope you'll introduce me to Mrs. Ulford. I should like to know her."

"Yours isn't the voice to talk down a trumpet," said Leo Ulford, with a
sudden air of surliness.

"I should like to know her now I know you and your father."

At the mention of his father Leo Ulford's discontented expression
increased.

"My father's a rotter," he said. "Never cared for anything. No shot to
speak of. He can sit on a horse all right. Had to, in South America
and Morocco and all those places. But he never really cared about it,
I don't believe. Why, he'd rather look at a picture than a thoroughbred
any day!"

At this moment Sir Donald wandered into the room, with his hands behind
his thin back, and his eyes searching the walls. The Duke possessed a
splendid collection of pictures.

"There he is!" said Leo, gruffly.

"He doesn't see us. Go and tell him I'm here."

"Why? he might go out again if we keep mum."

"But I want to speak to him. Sir Donald! Sir Donald!"

Sir Donald turned round at the second summons and came towards them,
looking rather embarrassed.

"Hulloa, pater!" said Leo.

Sir Donald nodded to his son with a conscientious effort to seem
familiar and genial.

"Hulloa!" he rejoined in a hollow voice.

"Your boy has been instructing me in American mysteries," said Lady
Holme. "Do take me to the ballroom, Sir Donald."

Leo Ulford's good humour returned as abruptly as it had departed.
Her glance at him, as she spoke, had seemed to hint at a secret
understanding between them in which no one--certainly not his
father--was included.

"Pater can tell you all about the pictures," he said, with a comfortable