h relief.

LADY DEDMOND. Ah! It's you, Reginald!

HUNTINGDON. [A tall, fair soldier, of thirty] How d'you do? How are
you, sir? What's the matter with their man?

SHE CHARLES. What!

HUNTINGDON. I was going into the dining-room to get rid of my cigar;
and he said: "Not in there, sir. The master's there, but my
instructions are to the effect that he's not."

SHE CHARLES. I knew that fellow----

LADY DEDMOND. The fact is, Reginald, Clare's out, and George is
waiting for her. It's so important people shouldn't----

HUNTINGDON. Rather!

They draw together, as people do, discussing the misfortunes of
members of their families.

LADY DEDMOND. It's getting serious, Reginald. I don't know what's
to become of them. You don't think the Rector--you don't think your
father would speak to Clare?

HUNTINGDON. Afraid the Governor's hardly well enough. He takes
anything of that sort to heart so--especially Clare.

SIR CHARLES. Can't you put in a word yourself?

HUNTINGDON. Don't know where the mischief lies.

SIR CHARLES. I'm sure George doesn't gallop her on the road. Very
steady-goin' fellow, old George.

HUNTINGDON. Oh, yes; George is all right, sir.

LADY DEDMOND. They ought to have had children.

HUNTINGDON. Expect they're pretty glad now they haven't. I really
don't know what to say, ma'am.

SIR CHARLES. Saving your presence, you know, Reginald, I've often
noticed parsons' daughters grow up queer. Get too much morality and
rice puddin'.

LADY DEDMOND. [With a clear look] Charles!

SIR CHARLES. What was she like when you were kids?

HUNTINGDON. Oh, all right. Could be rather a little devil, of
course, when her monkey was up.

SIR CHARLES. I'm fond of her. Nothing she wants that she hasn't
got, is there?

HUNTINGDON. Never heard her say so.

SIR CHARLES. [Dimly] I don't know whether old George is a bit too
matter of fact for her. H'm?

[A short silence.]

LADY DEDMOND. There's a Mr. Malise coming here to-night. I forget
if you know him.

HUNTINGDON. Yes. Rather a thorough-bred mongrel.

LADY DEDMOND. He's literary. [With hesitation] You--you don't
think he--puts--er--ideas into her head?

HUNTINGDON. I asked Greyman, the novelist, about him; seems he's a
bit of an Ishmaelite, even among those fellows. Can't see Clare----

LADY DEDMOND. No. Only, the great thing is that she shouldn't be
encouraged. Listen!--It is her-coming in.