ont door.

"What does this mean? Good God, Freddie, have you no delicacy?"

"Eh?" said Freddie blankly.

"Why are you bringing Underhill to this party? Don't you realize that
poor Jill will be there? How do you suppose she will feel when she
sees that blackguard again? The cad who threw her over and nearly
broke her heart!"

Freddie's jaw fell. He groped for his fallen eyeglass.

"Oh, my aunt! Do you think she will be pipped?"

"A sensitive girl like Jill?"

"But, listen. Derek wants to marry her."

"What?"

"Oh, absolutely. That's why he's come over."

Uncle Chris shook his head.

"I don't understand this. I saw the letter myself which he wrote to
her, breaking off the engagement."

"Yes, but he's dashed sorry about all that now. Wishes he had never
been such a mug, and all that sort of thing. As a matter of fact,
that's why I shot over here in the first place. As an ambassador,
don't you know. I told Jill all about it directly I saw her, but she
seemed inclined to give it a miss rather, so I cabled old Derek to pop
here in person. Seemed to me, don't you know, that Jill might be more
likely to make it up and all that if she saw old Derek."

Uncle Chris nodded, his composure restored.

"Very true. Yes, certainly, my boy, you acted most sensibly. Badly as
Underhill behaved, she undoubtedly loved him. It would be the best
possible thing that could happen if they could be brought together. It
is my dearest wish to see Jill comfortably settled. I was half hoping
that she might marry young Pilkington."

"Good God! The Pilker!"

"He is quite a nice young fellow," argued Uncle Chris. "None too many
brains, perhaps, but Jill would supply that deficiency. Still, of
course, Underhill would be much better."

"She ought to marry someone," said Freddie earnestly. "I mean, all rot
a girl like Jill having to knock about and rough it like this."

"You're perfectly right."

"Of course," said Freddie thoughtfully, "the catch in the whole dashed
business is that she's such a bally independent sort of girl. I mean
to say, it's quite possible she may hand Derek the mitten, you know."

"In that case, let us hope that she will look more favourably on young
Pilkington."

"Yes," said Freddie. "Well, yes. But--well, I wouldn't call the Pilker
a very ripe sporting proposition. About sixty to one against is the
way I should figure it if I were making a book. It may be just because
I'm feeling a bit pipped this morning-