aid to
myself: 'Ten to one there's only one fit to buy, just as there's only
one champagne fit for a gentleman to drink.' Argued like a lawyer, eh,
Austin?" He tossed this to Wrayford. "Take me for one of your own trade,
wouldn't you? Well, I'm not such a fool as I look. I suppose you fellows
who are tied to the treadmill--excuse me, Swordsley, but work's work,
isn't it?--I suppose you think a man like me has nothing to do but take
it easy: loll through life like a woman. By George, sir, I'd like either
of you to see the time it takes--I won't say the _brain_--but just the
time it takes to pick out a good motor-boat. Why, I went--"

Mrs. Stilling set her embroidery-frame noiselessly on the table at her
side, and turned her head toward Wrayford. "Would you mind ringing for
the tray?"

The interruption helped Mrs. Swordsley to waver to her feet. "I'm afraid
we ought really to be going; my husband has an early service to-morrow."

Her host intervened with a genial protest. "Going already? Nothing of
the sort! Why, the night's still young, as the poet says. Long way from
here to the rectory? Nonsense! In our little twenty-horse car we do
it in five minutes--don't we, Belle? Ah, you're walking, to be sure--"
Stilling's indulgent gesture seemed to concede that, in such a case,
allowances must be made, and that he was the last man not to make them.
"Well, then, Swordsley--" He held out a thick red hand that seemed to
exude beneficence, and the clergyman, pressing it, ventured to murmur a
suggestion.

"What, that Galahad Club again? Why, I thought my wife--Isabel, didn't
we--No? Well, it must have been my mother, then. Of course, you know,
anything my good mother gives is--well--virtually--You haven't asked
her? Sure? I could have sworn; I get so many of these appeals. And in
these times, you know, we have to go cautiously. I'm sure you recognize
that yourself, Swordsley. With my obligations--here now, to show you
don't bear malice, have a brandy and soda before you go. Nonsense, man!
This brandy isn't liquor; it's liqueur. I picked it up last year in
London--last of a famous lot from Lord St. Oswyn's cellar. Laid down
here, it stood me at--Eh?" he broke off as his wife moved toward him.
"Ah, yes, of course. Miss Lucy, Miss Agnes--a drop of soda-water? Look
here, Addison, you won't refuse my tipple, I know. Well, take a cigar,
at any rate, Swordsley. And, by the way, I'm afraid you'll have to go
round the long way by the av