s_
it?"

Jean flushed an angry pink, and said sharply:

"Don't be silly, Jock. I was only talking nonsense."

"Well, what is it?" Jock persisted.

"It's not quite Richard Plantagenet, but it's pretty bad. My name given
me by my godmother and godfathers is--Quintin Reginald Fuerbras."

"Gosh, Maggie!" ejaculated Jock. "Earls in the streets of Cork!"

"I knew," said Jean, "that it would be something very
twopence-coloured."

"It's not, I grant, such a jolly name as yours," said Lord
Bidborough--"Jean Jardine."

"Oh, mine is Penny-plain," said Jean hurriedly.

"Must we always call you Lord?" Mhor asked.

"Of course you must," Jean said. "Really, Mhor, you and Jock are
sometimes very stupid."

"Indeed you must not," said Lord Bidborough. "Forgive me, Miss Jean, if
I am undermining your authority, but, really, one must have some say in
what one is to be called. Why not call me Biddy?"

"That might be too familiar," said Jock. "I think I would rather call
you Richard Plantagenet."

"Because it isn't my name?"

"It sort of suits you," Jock said.

"I like long names," said Mhor.

"Will you call me Richard Plantagenet, Miss Jean?"

The yellow lights in Jean's eyes sparkled. "If you'll call me
Penny-plain," she said.

"Then that's a bargain, though I don't think either of us is well
suited. However--now that we are really friends, what did you do this
afternoon that was so very important?"

"Talked to Lewis Elliot for one thing: he came to tea."

"I see. An excellent fellow, Lewis. He's a relation of yours, isn't he?"

"A very distant one, but we have so few relations we are only too glad
to claim him. He has been a very good friend to us always.... Mhor, you
really must go to bed now."

"Oh, all right, but I don't think it's very polite to go to bed when a
visitor's in. It might make him think he ought to go away."

Lord Bidborough laughed, and assured Mhor that he appreciated his
delicacy of feeling.

"There's a thing I want to ask you, anyway," said Mhor.--"Yes, I'm going
to bed, Jean. Whether do you think Quentin Durward or Charlie Chaplin
would be the better man in a fight?"

Lord Bidborough gave the matter some earnest thought, and decided on
Quentin Durward.

"I told you that," said. Jock to Mhor. "Now, perhaps, you'll believe
me."

"I don't know," said Mhor, still doubtful. "Of course Quentin Durward
had his sword--but you know that way Charlie has with a stick?"

"Well, anyway, go t