Chapter 1

1.

　　Freddie Rooke gazed coldly at the breakfast-table. Through a gleamingeye-glass he inspected the revolting object which Parker, hisfaithful man, had placed on a plate before him.

　　"Parker!" His voice had a ring of pain.

　　"Sir?""What's this?""Poached egg, sir."Freddie averted his eyes with a silent shudder.

　　"It looks just like an old aunt of mine," he said. "Remove it!"He got up, and, wrapping his dressing-gown about his long legs, tookup a stand in front of the fireplace. From this position he surveyedthe room, his shoulders against the mantelpiece, his calves pressingthe club-fender. It was a cheerful oasis in a chill and foggy world,a typical London bachelor's breakfast-room. The walls were a restfulgray, and the table, set for two, a comfortable arrangement in whiteand silver.

　　"Eggs, Parker," said Freddie solemnly, "are the acid test!""Yes, sir?""If, on the morning after, you can tackle a poached egg, you are allright. If not, not. And don't let anybody tell you otherwise.""No, sir."Freddie pressed the palm of his hand to his brow, and sighed.

　　"It would seem, then, that I must have revelled a triflewhole-heartedly last night. I was possibly a little blotto. Notwhiffled, perhaps, but indisputably blotto. Did I make much noisecoming in?""No, sir. You were very quiet.""Ah! A dashed bad sign!"Freddie moved to the table, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

　　"The cream-jug is to your right, sir," said the helpful Parker.

　　"Let it remain there. Cafe noir for me this morning. As noir as itcan jolly well stick!" Freddie retired to the fireplace and sippeddelicately. "As far as I can remember, it was Ronny Devereux'

　　birthday or something . . .""Mr Martyn's, I think you said, sir.""That's right. Algy Martyn's birthday, and Ronny and I were theguests. It all comes back to me. I wanted Derek to roll along andjoin the festivities--he's never met Ronny--but he gave it a miss.

　　Quite right! A chap in his position has responsibilities. Member ofParliament and all that. Besides," said Freddie earnestly, drivinghome the point with a wave of his spoon, "he's engaged to be married.

　　You must remember that, Parker!""I will endeavor to, sir.""Sometimes," said Freddie dreamily, "I wish I were engaged to bemarried. Sometimes I wish I had some sweet girl to watch over me and. . . No, I don't, by Jove! It would give me the utter pip! Is SirDerek up yet, Parker?""Getting up, sir.""See that everything is all right, will you? I mean as regards thefoodstuffs and what not. I want him to make a good breakfast. He'sgot to meet his mother this morning at Charing Cross. She's leggingit back from the Riviera.""Indeed, sir?"Freddie shook his head.

　　"You wouldn't speak in that light, careless tone if you knew her!

　　Well, you'll see her tonight. She's coming here to dinner.""Yes, sir.""Miss Mariner will he here, too. A foursome. Tell Mrs Parker to pullup her socks and give us something pretty ripe. Soup, fish, all thatsort of thing. _She_ knows. And let's have a stoup of malvoisie fromthe oldest bin. This is a special occasion!""Her ladyship will be meeting Miss Mariner for the first time, sir?""You've put your finger on it! Absolutely the first time on this orany stage! We must all rally round and make the thing a success.""I am sure Mrs Parker will strain every nerve, sir." Parker moved tothe door, carrying the rejected egg, and stepped aside to allow atall, well-built man of about thirty to enter. "Good morning, SirDerek.""Morning, Parker."Parker slid softly from the room. Derek Underhill sat down at thetable. He was a strikingly handsome man, with a strong, forcefulface, dark, lean and cleanly shaven. He was one of those men whom astranger would instinctively pick out of a crowd as worthy of note.

　　His only defect was that his heavy eyebrows gave him at times anexpression which was a little forbidding. Women, however, had neverbeen repelled by it. He was very popular with women, not quite sopopular with men--always excepting Freddie Rooke, who worshipped him.

　　They had been at school together, though Freddie was the younger byseveral years.

　　"Finished, Freddie?" asked Derek.

　　Freddie smiled wanly,"We are not breakfasting this morning," he replied. "The spirit waswilling, but the jolly old flesh would have none of it. To beperfectly frank, the Last of the Rookes has a bit of a head.""Ass!" said Derek.

　　"A bit of sympathy," said Freddie, pained, "would not be out ofplace. We are far from well. Some person unknown has put athreshing-machine inside the old bean and substituted a piece ofbrown paper for our tongue. Things look dark and yellow and wobbly!""You shouldn't have overdone it last night.""It was Algy Martyn's birthday," pleaded Freddie.

　　"If I were an ass like Algy Martyn," said Derek, "I wouldn't go aboutadvertising the fact that I'd been born. I'd hush it up!"He helped himself to a plentiful portion of kedgeree, Freddiewatching him with repulsion mingled with envy. When he began to eat,the spectacle became too poignant for the sufferer, and he wanderedto the window.

　　"What a beast of a day!"It was an appalling day. January, that grim month, was treatingLondon with its usual severity. Early in the morning a bank of foghad rolled up off the river, and was deepening from pearly white to alurid brown. It pressed on the window-pane like a blanket, leavingdark, damp rivulets on the glass.

　　"Awful!" said Derek.

　　"Your mater's train will be late.""Yes. Damned nuisance. It's bad enough meeting trains in any case,without having to hang about a draughty station for an hour.""And it's sure, I should imagine," went on Freddie, pursuing histrain of thought, "to make the dear old thing pretty tolerably ratty,if she has one of those slow journeys." He pottered back to thefireplace, and rubbed his shoulders reflectively against themantelpiece. "I take it that you wrote to her about Jill?""Of course. That's why she's coming over, I suppose. By the way, yougot those seats for that theatre tonight?""Yes. Three together and one somewhere on the outskirts. If it's allthe same to you, old thing, I'll have the one on the outskirts."Derek, who had finished his kedgeree and was now making himself ablot on Freddie's horizon with toast and marmalade, laughed.

　　"What a rabbit you are, Freddie! Why on earth are you so afraid ofmother?"Freddie looked at him as a timid young squire might have gazed uponSt. George when the latter set out to do battle with the dragon. Hewas of the amiable type which makes heroes of its friends. In the olddays when he had fagged for him at Winchester he had thought Derekthe most wonderful person in the world, and this view he stillretained. Indeed, subsequent events had strengthened it. Derek haddone the most amazing things since leaving school. He had had abrilliant career at Oxford, and now, in the House of Commons, wasalready looked upon by the leaders of his party as one to be watchedand encouraged. He played polo superlatively well, and was a fineshot. But of all his gifts and qualities the one that extortedFreddie's admiration in its intensest form was his lion-like courageas exemplified by his behavior in the present crisis. There he sat,placidly eating toast and marmalade, while the boat-train containingLady Underhill already sped on its way from Dover to London. It waslike Drake playing bowls with the Spanish Armada in sight.

　　"I wish I had your nerve!" he said, awed. "What I should be feeling,if I were in your place and had to meet your mater after telling herthat I was engaged to marry a girl she had never seen, I don't know.

　　I'd rather face a wounded tiger!""Idiot!" said Derek placidly.

　　"Not," pursued Freddie, "that I mean to say anything in the leastderogatory and so forth to your jolly old mater, if you understandme, but the fact remains she scares me pallid! Always has, ever sincethe first time I went to stay at your place when I was a kid. I canstill remember catching her eye the morning I happened by pure chanceto bung an apple through her bedroom window, meaning to let a cat onthe sill below have it in the short ribs. She was at least thirtyfeet away, but, by Jove, it stopped me like a bullet!""Push the bell, old man, will you? I want some more toast."Freddie did as he was requested with growing admiration.

　　"The condemned man made an excellent breakfast," he murmured. "Moretoast, Parker," he added, as that admirable servitor opened the door.

　　"Gallant! That's what I call it. Gallant!"Derek tilted his chair back.

　　"Mother is sure to like Jill when she sees her," he said.

　　"_When_ she sees her! Ah! But the trouble is, young feller-me-lad,that she _hasn't_ seen her! That's the weak spot in your case, oldcompanion! A month ago she didn't know of Jill's existence. Now, youknow and I know that Jill is one of the best and brightest. As far aswe are concerned, everything in the good old garden is lovely. Why,dash it, Jill and I were children together. Sported side by side onthe green, and what not. I remember Jill, when she was twelve,turning the garden-hose on me and knocking about seventy-five percent off the market value of my best Sunday suit. That sort of thingforms a bond, you know, and I've always felt that she was a corker.

　　But your mater's got to discover it for herself. It's a dashed pity,by Jove, that Jill hasn't a father or a mother or something of thatspecies to rally round just now. They would form a gang. There'snothing like a gang! But she's only got that old uncle of hers. Arummy bird! Met him?""Several times. I like him.""Oh, he's a genial old buck all right. A very bonhomous lad. But youhear some pretty queer stories about him if you get among people whoknew him in the old days. Even now I'm not so dashed sure I shouldcare to play cards with him. Young Threepwood was telling me only theother day that the old boy took thirty quid off him at picquet asclean as a whistle. And Jimmy Monroe, who's on the Stock Exchange,says he's frightfully busy these times buying margins or whatever itis chappies do down in the City. Margins. That's the word. Jimmy mademe buy some myself on a thing called Amalgamated Dyes. I don'tunderstand the procedure exactly, but Jimmy says it's a sound egg andwill do me a bit of good. What was I talking about? Oh, yes, oldSelby. There's no doubt he's quite a sportsman. But till you've gotJill well established, you know, I shouldn't enlarge on him too muchwith the mater.""On the contrary," said Derek. "I shall mention him at the firstopportunity. He knew my father out in India.""Did he, by Jove! Oh, well, that makes a difference."Parker entered with the toast, and Derek resumed his breakfast.

　　"It may be a little bit awkward," he said, "at first, meeting mother.

　　But everything will be all right after five minutes.""Absolutely! But, oh, boy! that first five minutes!" Freddie gazedportentously through his eye-glass. Then he seemed to be undergoingsome internal struggle, for he gulped once or twice. "That first fiveminutes!" he said, and paused again. A moment's silentself-communion, and he went on with a rush. "I say, listen. Shall Icome along, too?""Come along?""To the station. With you.""What on earth for?""To see you through the opening stages. Break the ice and all thatsort of thing. Nothing like collecting a gang, you know. Moments whena feller needs a friend and so forth. Say the word, and I'll buzzalong and lend my moral support."Derek's heavy eyebrows closed together in an offended frown, andseemed to darken his whole face. This unsolicited offer of assistancehurt his dignity. He showed a touch of the petulance which came nowand then when he was annoyed, to suggest that he might not possess sostrong a character as his exterior indicated.

　　"It's very kind of you," he began stiffly.

　　Freddie nodded. He was acutely conscious of this himself.

　　"Some fellows," he observed, "would say 'Not at all!' I suppose. Butnot the Last of the Rookes! For, honestly, old man, betweenourselves, I don't mind admitting that this _is_ the bravest deed ofthe year, and I'm dashed if I would do it for anyone else.""It's very good of you, Freddie . . .""That's all right. I'm a Boy Scout, and this is my act of kindnessfor today."Derek got up from the table.

　　"Of course you mustn't come," he said. "We can't form a sort ofdebating society to discuss Jill on the platform at Charing Cross.""Oh, I would just hang around in the offing, shoving in an occasionaltactful word.""Nonsense!""The wheeze would simply be to . . .""It's impossible.""Oh, very well," said Freddie, damped. "Just as you say, of course.

　　But there's nothing like a gang, old man, nothing like a gang!"2.

　　Derek Underhill threw down the stump of his cigar, and gruntedirritably. Inside Charing Cross Station business was proceeding asusual. Porters wheeling baggage-trucks moved to and fro likeJuggernauts. Belated trains clanked in, glad to get home, whileothers, less fortunate, crept reluctantly out through the blacknessand disappeared into an inferno of detonating fog-signals. Foroutside the fog still held. The air was cold and raw and tastedcoppery. In the street traffic moved at a funeral pace, to theaccompaniment of hoarse cries and occasional crashes. Once the sunhad worked its way through the murk and had hung in the sky like agreat red orange, but now all was darkness and discomfort again,blended with that odd suggestion of mystery and romance which is aLondon fog's only redeeming quality.

　　It seemed to Derek that he had been patrolling the platform for alife-time, but he resumed his sentinel duty. The fact that theboat-train, being already forty-five minutes overdue, might arrive atany moment made it imperative that he remain where he was instead ofsitting, as he would much have preferred to sit, in one of thewaiting-rooms. It would be a disaster if his mother should get out ofthe train and not find him there to meet her. That was just the sortof thing which would infuriate her; and her mood, after a Channelcrossing and a dreary journey by rail, would be sufficientlydangerous as it was.

　　The fog and the waiting had had their effect upon Derek. The resolutefront he had exhibited to Freddie at the breakfast-table had meltedsince his arrival at the station, and he was feeling nervous at theprospect of the meeting that lay before him. Calm as he had appearedto the eye of Freddie and bravely as he had spoken, Derek, in therecesses of his heart, was afraid of his mother. There are men--andDerek Underhill was one of them--who never wholly emerge from thenursery. They may put away childish things and rise in the world toaffluence and success, but the hand that rocked their cradle stillrules their lives. As a boy, Derek had always been firmly controlledby his mother, and the sway of her aggressive personality had enduredthrough manhood. Lady Underhill was a born ruler, dominating most ofthe people with whom life brought her in contact. Distant cousinsquaked at her name, while among the male portion of her nearerrelatives she was generally alluded to as The Family Curse.

　　Now that his meeting with her might occur at any moment, Derek shrankfrom it. It was not likely to be a pleasant one. The mere fact thatLady Underhill was coming to London at all made that improbable. Whena man writes to inform his mother, who is wintering on the Riviera,that he has become engaged to be married, the natural course for herto pursue, if she approves of the step, is to wire hercongratulations and good wishes. When for these she substitutes acurt announcement that she is returning immediately, a certain lackof complaisance seems to be indicated.

　　Would his mother approve of Jill? That was the question which he hadbeen asking himself over and over again as he paced the platform inthe disheartening fog. Nothing had been said, nothing had even beenhinted, but he was perfectly aware that his marriage was a matterregarding which Lady Underhill had always assumed that she was to beconsulted, even if she did not, as he suspected, claim the right todictate. And he had become engaged quite suddenly, without a word toher until it was all over and settled.

　　That, as Freddie had pointed out, was the confoundedly awkward partof it. His engagement had been so sudden. Jill had swept into hislife like a comet. His mother knew nothing of her. A month ago he hadknown nothing of her himself. It would, he perceived, as far as thebenevolent approval of Lady Underhill was concerned, have been analtogether different matter had his choice fallen upon one of thosedamsels whose characters, personality, and ancestry she knew.

　　Daughters of solid and useful men; sisters of rising youngpoliticians like himself; nieces of Burke's peerage; he could haveintroduced without embarrassment one of these in the role ofbride-elect. But Jill . . . Oh, well, when once his mother had metJill, everything was sure to be all right. Nobody could resist Jill.

　　It would be like resisting the sunshine.

　　Somewhat comforted by this reflection, Derek turned to begin one morewalk along the platform, and stopped in mid-stride, raging. Beamingover the collar of a plaid greatcoat, all helpfulness and devotion,Freddie Rooke was advancing towards him, the friend that stickethcloser than a brother. Like some loving dog, who, ordered home,sneaks softly on through alleys and by-ways, peeping round cornersand crouching behind lamp-posts, the faithful Freddie had followedhim after all. And with him, to add the last touch to Derek'sdiscomfiture, were those two inseparable allies of his, RonnyDevereux and Algy Martyn.

　　"Well, old thing," said Freddie, patting Derek encouragingly on theshoulder, "here we are after all! I know you told me not to roilround and so forth, but I knew you didn't mean it. I thought it overafter you had left, and decided it would be a rotten trick not tocluster about you in your hour of need. I hope you don't mind Ronnyand Algy breezing along, too. The fact is, I was in the deuce of afunk--your jolly old mater always rather paralyzes my nerve-centers,you know--so I roped them in. Met 'em in Piccadilly, groping aboutfor the club, and conscripted 'em both, they very decentlyconsenting. We all toddled off and had a pick-me-up at that chemistchappie's at the top of the Hay-market, and now we're feeling full ofbeans and buck, ready for anything. I've explained the whole thing tothem, and they're with you to the death! Collect a gang, dear boy,collect a gang! That's the motto. There's nothing like it!""Nothing!" said Ronny.

　　"Absolutely nothing!" said Algy.

　　"We'll just see you through the opening stages," said Freddie, "andthen leg it. We'll keep the conversation general, you know.""Stop it getting into painful channels," said Ronny.

　　"Steer it clear," said Algy, "of the touchy topic.""That's the wheeze," said Freddie. "We'll . . . Oh, golly! There'sthe train coming in now!" His voice quavered, for not even thecomforting presence of his two allies could altogether sustain him inthis ordeal. But he pulled himself together with a manful effort.

　　"Stick it, old beans!" he said doughtily. "Now is the time for allgood men to come to the aid of the party!""We're here!" said Ronny Devereux.

　　"On the spot!" said Algy Martyn.

　　3.

　　The boat-train slid into the station. Bells rang, engines blew offsteam, porters shouted, baggage-trucks rattled over the platform. Thetrain began to give up its contents, now in ones and twos, now in asteady stream. Most of the travellers seemed limp and exhausted, andwere pale with the pallor that comes of a choppy Channel crossing.

　　Almost the only exception to the general condition of collapse wasthe eagle-faced lady in the brown ulster, who had taken up her standin the middle of the platform and was haranguing a subdued littlemaid in a voice that cut the gloomy air like a steel knife. Like theother travellers, she was pale, but she bore up resolutely. No onecould have told from Lady Underhill's demeanor that the solidplatform seemed to heave beneath her feet like a deck.

　　"Have you got a porter, Ferris? Where is he, then? Ah! Have you gotall the bags? My jewel-case? The suit-case? The small brown bag? Therugs? Where are the rugs?

　　"Yes, I can see them, my good girl. There is no need to brandish themin my face. Keep the jewel-case and give the rest of the things tothe porter, and take him to look after the trunks. You remember whichthey are? The steamer trunk, the other trunk, the black box . . .

　　Very well. Then make haste. And, when you've got them all together,tell the porter to find you a four-wheeler. The small things will goinside. Drive to the Savoy and ask for my suite. If they make anydifficulty, tell them that I engaged the rooms yesterday by telegraphfrom Mentone. Do you understand?""Yes, m'lady.""Then go along. Oh, and give the porter sixpence. Sixpence is ample.""Yes, m'lady."The little maid, grasping the jewel-case, trotted off beside the nowpessimistic porter, who had started on this job under the impressionthat there was at least a bob's-worth in it. The remark about thesixpence had jarred the porter's faith in his species.

　　Derek approached, acutely conscious of Freddie, Ronny, and Algy, whowere skirmishing about his flank. He had enough to worry him withoutthem. He had listened with growing apprehension to the catalogue ofhis mother's possessions. Plainly this was no flying visit. You donot pop over to London for a day or two with a steamer trunk, anothertrunk, a black box, a suit-case, and a small brown bag. LadyUnderhill had evidently come prepared to stay; and the fact seemed topresage trouble.

　　"Well, mother! So there you are at last!""Well, Derek!"Derek kissed his mother. Freddie, Ronny, and Algy shuffled closer,like leopards. Freddie, with the expression of one who leads aforlorn hope, moved his Adam's apple briskly up and down severaltimes, and spoke.

　　"How do you do, Lady Underhill?""How do you do, Mr Rooke?"Lady Underhill bowed stiffly and without pleasure. She was not fondof the Last of the Rookes. She supposed the Almighty had had somewise purpose in creating Freddie, but it had always been inscrutableto her.

　　"Like you," mumbled Freddie, "to meet my friends. Lady Underhill. MrDevereux.""Charmed," said Ronny affably.

　　"Mr Martyn.""Delighted," said Algy with old-world courtesy.

　　Lady Underhill regarded this mob-scene with an eye of ice.

　　"How do you do?" she said. "Have you come to meet somebody?""I-er-we-er-why-er--" This woman always made Freddie feel as if hewere being disembowelled by some clumsy amateur. He wished that hehad defied the dictates of his better nature and remained in his snugrooms at the Albany, allowing Derek to go through this business byhimself. "I-er-we-er-came to meet _you_, don't you know!""Indeed! That was very kind of you!""Oh, not at all.""Thought we'd welcome you back to the old homestead," said Ronny,beaming.

　　"What could be sweeter?" said Algy. He produced a cigar-case, andextracted a formidable torpedo-shaped Havana. He was feelingdelightfully at his ease, and couldn't understand why Freddie hadmade such a fuss about meeting this nice old lady. "Don't mind if Ismoke, do you? Air's a bit raw today. Gets into the lungs."Derek chafed impotently. These unsought allies were making adifficult situation a thousand times worse. A more acute observerthan young Mr Martyn, he noted the tight lines about his mother'smouth and knew them for the danger-signal they were. Endeavoring todistract her with light conversation, he selected a subject which wasa little unfortunate.

　　"What sort of crossing did you have, mother?"Lady Underhill winced. A current of air had sent the perfume ofAlgy's cigar playing about her nostrils. She closed her eyes, and herface turned a shade paler. Freddie, observing this, felt quite sorryfor the poor old thing. She was a pest and a pot of poison, ofcourse, but all the same, he reflected charitably, it was a shamethat she should look so green about the gills. He came to theconclusion that she must be hungry. The thing to do was to take hermind off it till she could be conducted to a restaurant and dumpeddown in front of a bowl of soup.

　　"Bit choppy, I suppose, what?" he bellowed, in a voice that ran upand down Lady Underhill's nervous system like an electric needle. "Iwas afraid you were going to have a pretty rough time of it when Iread the forecast in the paper. The good old boat wobbled a bit, eh?"Lady Underhill uttered a faint moan. Freddie noticed that she waslooking deucedly chippy, even chippier than a moment ago.

　　"It's an extraordinary thing about that Channel crossing," said AlgyMartyn meditatively, as he puffed a refreshing cloud. "I've knownfellows who could travel quite happily everywhere else in theworld--round the Horn in sailing-ships and all that sort ofthing--yield up their immortal soul crossing the Channel! Absolutelyyield up their immortal soul! Don't know why. Rummy, but there itis!""I'm like that myself," assented Ronny Devereux. "That dashed tripfrom Calais gets me every time. Bowls me right over. I go aboard,stoked to the eyebrows with seasick remedies, swearing that this timeI'll fool 'em, but down I go ten minutes after we've started and thenext thing I know is somebody saying, 'Well, well! So this isDover!'""It's exactly the same with me," said Freddie, delighted with thesmooth, easy way the conversation was flowing. "Whether it's the hot,greasy smell of the engines . . .""It's not the engines," contended Ronny Devereux.

　　"Stands to reason it can't be. I rather like the smell of engines.

　　This station is reeking with the smell of engine-grease, and I candrink it in and enjoy it." He sniffed luxuriantly. "It's somethingelse.""Ronny's right," said Algy cordially. "It isn't the engines. It's theway the boat heaves up and down and up and down and up and down . . ."He shifted his cigar to his left hand in order to give with his righta spirited illustration of a Channel steamer going up and down and upand down and up and down. Lady Underhill, who had opened her eyes,had an excellent view of the performance, and closed her eyes againquickly.

　　"Be quiet!" she snapped.

　　"I was only saying . . .""Be quiet!""Oh, rather!"Lady Underhill wrestled with herself. She was a woman of greatwill-power and accustomed to triumph over the weaknesses of theflesh. After awhile her eyes opened. She had forced herself, againstthe evidence of her senses, to recognize that this was a platform onwhich she stood and not a deck.

　　There was a pause. Algy, damped, was temporarily out of action, andhis friends had for the moment nothing to remark.

　　"I'm afraid you had a trying journey, mother," said Derek. "The trainwas very late.""Now, _train_-sickness," said Algy, coming to the surface again, "isa thing lots of people suffer from. Never could understand it myself.""I've never had a touch of train-sickness," said Ronny.

　　"Oh, I have," said Freddie. "I've often felt rotten on a train. I getfloating spots in front of my eyes and a sort of heaving sensation,and everything kind of goes black . . .""Mr Rooke!""Eh?""I should be greatly obliged if you would keep these confidences forthe ear of your medical adviser.""Freddie," intervened Derek hastily, "my mother's rather tired. Doyou think you could be going ahead and getting a taxi?""My dear old chap, of course! Get you one in a second. Come along,Algy. Pick up the old waukeesis, Ronny."And Freddie, accompanied by his henchmen, ambled off, well pleasedwith himself. He had, he felt, helped to break the ice for Derek andhad seen him safely through those awkward opening stages. Now hecould totter off with a light heart and get a bite of lunch.

　　Lady Underhill's eyes glittered. They were small, keen, black eyes,unlike Derek's, which were large and brown. In their other featuresthe two were obviously mother and son. Each had the same long upperlip, the same thin, firm mouth, the prominent chin which was a familycharacteristic of the Underhills, and the jutting Underhill nose.

　　Most of the Underhills came into the world looking as though theymeant to drive their way through life like a wedge.

　　"A little more," she said tensely, "and I should have struck thoseunspeakable young men with my umbrella. One of the things I havenever been able to understand, Derek, is why you should have selectedthat imbecile Rooke as your closest friend."Derek smiled tolerantly.

　　"It was more a case of him selecting _me_. But Freddie is quite agood fellow really. He's a man you've got to know.""_I_ have not got to know him, and I thank heaven for it!""He's a very good-natured fellow. It was decent of him to put me upat the Albany while our house was let. By the way, he has some seatsfor the first night of a new piece this evening. He suggested that wemight all dine at the Albany and go on to the theatre." He hesitateda moment. "Jill will be there," he said, and felt easier now that hername had at last come into the talk. "She's longing to meet you.""Then why didn't she meet me?""Here, do you mean? At the station? Well, I--I wanted you to see herfor the first time in pleasanter surroundings.""Oh!" said Lady Underhill shortly.

　　It is a disturbing thought that we suffer in this world just as muchby being prudent and taking precautions as we do by being rash andimpulsive and acting as the spirit moves us. If Jill had beenpermitted by her wary fiancé to come with him to the station to meethis mother, it is certain that much trouble would have been avoided.

　　True, Lady Underhill would probably have been rude to her in theopening stages of the interview, but she would not have been alarmedand suspicious; or, rather, the vague suspicion which she had beenfeeling would not have solidified, as, it did now, into definitecertainty of the worst. All that Derek had effected by his carefuldiplomacy had been to convince his mother that he considered hisbride-elect something to be broken gently to her.

　　She stopped and faced him.

　　"Who is she?" she demanded. "Who is this girl?"Derek flushed.

　　"I thought I made everything clear in my letter.""You made nothing clear at all.""By your leave!" chanted a porter behind them, and a baggage-truckclove them apart.

　　"We can't talk in a crowded station," said Derek irritably. "Let meget you to the taxi and take you to the hotel. . . . What do you wantto know about Jill?""Everything. Where does she come from? Who are her people? I don'tknow any Mariners.""I haven't cross-examined her," said Derek stiffly. "But I do knowthat her parents are dead. Her father was an American.""American!""Americans frequently have daughters, I believe.""There is nothing to be gained by losing your temper," said LadyUnderhill with steely calm.

　　"There is nothing to be gained, as far as I can see, by all thistalk," retorted Derek. He wondered vexedly why his mother always hadthis power of making him lose control of himself. He hated to losecontrol of himself. It upset him, and blurred that vision which heliked to have of himself as a calm, important man superior toordinary weaknesses. "Jill and I are engaged, and there is an end ofit.""Don't be a fool," said Lady Underhill, and was driven away byanother baggage-truck. "You know perfectly well," she resumed,returning to the attack, "that your marriage is a matter of thegreatest concern to me and to the whole of the family.""Listen, mother!" Derek's long wait on the draughty platform hadgenerated an irritability which overcame the deep-seated awe of hismother which was the result of years of defeat in battles of thewill. "Let me tell you in a few words all that I know of Jill, andthen we'll drop the subject. In the first place, she is a lady.

　　Secondly, she has plenty of money . . .""The Underhills do not need to marry for money.""I am not marrying for money!""Well, go on.""I have already described to you in my letter--very inadequately, butI did my best--what she looks like. Her sweetness, her loveableness,all the subtle things about her which go to make her what she is, youwill have to judge for yourself.""I intend to!""Well, that's all, then. She lives with her uncle, a Major Selby . . .""Major Selby? What regiment?""I didn't ask him," snapped the goaded Derek. "And, in the name ofheaven, what does it matter?""Not the Guards?""I tell you I don't know.""Probably a line regiment," said Lady Underhill with an indescribablesniff.

　　"Possibly. What then?" He paused, to play his trump card. "If you areworrying about Major Selby's social standing, I may as well tell youthat he used to know father.""What! When? Where?""Years ago. In India, when father was at Simla.""Selby? Selby? Not Christopher Selby?""Oh, you remember him?""I certainly remember him! Not that he and I ever met, but yourfather often spoke of him."Derek was relieved. It was abominable that this sort of thing shouldmatter, but one had to face facts, and, as far as his mother wasconcerned, it did. The fact that Jill's uncle had known his deadfather would make all the difference to Lady Underhill.

　　"Christopher Selby!" said Lady Underhill reflectively. "Yes! I haveoften heard your father speak of him. He was the man who gave yourfather an I.O.U. to pay a card debt, and redeemed it with a checkwhich was returned by the bank!""What!""Didn't you hear what I said? I will repeat it, if you wish.""There must have been some mistake.""Only the one your father made when he trusted the man.""It must have been some other fellow.""Of course!" said Lady Underhill satirically. "No doubt your fatherknew hundreds of Christopher Selbys!"Derek bit his lip.

　　"Well, after all," he said doggedly, "whether it's true or not . . .""I see no reason why your father should not have spoken the truth.""All right. We'll say it is true, then. But what does it matter? I ammarrying Jill, not her uncle.""Nevertheless, it would be pleasanter if her only living relativewere not a swindler! . . . Tell me, where and how did you meet thisgirl?""I should he glad if you would not refer to her as 'this girl.' Thename, if you have forgotten it, is Mariner.""Well, where did you meet Miss Mariner?""At Prince's.""Restaurant?""Skating-rink," said Derek impatiently. "Just after you left forMentone. Freddie Rooke introduced me.""Oh, your intellectual friend Mr Rooke knows her?""They were children together. Her people lived next to the Rookes inWorcestershire.""I thought you said she was an American.""I said her father was. He settled in England. Jill hasn't been inAmerica since she was eight or nine.""The fact," said Lady Underhill, "that the girl is a friend of MrRooke is no great recommendation."Derek kicked angrily at a box of matches which someone had throwndown on the platform.

　　"I wonder if you could possibly get it into your head, mother, that Iwant to marry Jill, not engage her as an under-housemaid. I don'tconsider that she requires recommendations, as you call them.

　　However, don't you think the most sensible thing is for you to waittill you meet her at dinner tonight, and then you can form your ownopinion? I'm beginning to get a little bored with this futilediscussion.""As you seem quite unable to talk on the subject of this girl withoutbecoming rude," said Lady Underhill, "I agree with you. Let us hopethat my first impression will be a favorable one. Experience hastaught me that first impressions are everything.""I'm glad you think so," said Derek, "for I fell in love with Jillthe very first moment I saw her!"4.

　　Parker stepped back, and surveyed with modest pride the dinner-tableto which he had been putting the finishing touches. It was anartistic job and a credit to him.

　　"That's that!" said Parker, satisfied.

　　He went to the window and looked out. The fog which had lasted wellinto the evening, had vanished now, and the clear night was brightwith stars. A distant murmur of traffic came from the direction ofPiccadilly.

　　As he stood there, the front-door bell rang, and continued to ring inlittle spurts of sound. If character can be deduced frombell-ringing, as nowadays it apparently can be from every other formof human activity, one might have hazarded the guess that whoever wason the other side of the door was determined, impetuous, andenergetic.

　　"Parker!"Freddie Rooke pushed a tousled head, which had yet to be brushed intothe smooth sleekness that made it a delight to the public eye, out ofa room down the passage.

　　"Sir?""Somebody ringing.""I heard, sir. I was about to answer the bell.""If it's Lady Underhill, tell her I'll be in in a minute.""I fancy it is Miss Mariner, sir. I think I recognise her touch."He made his way down the passage to the front-door, and opened it. Agirl was standing outside. She wore a long gray fur coat, and a filmygray hood covered her hair. As Parker opened the door, she scamperedin like a gray kitten.

　　"Brrh! It's cold!" she exclaimed. "Hullo, Parker!""Good evening, miss.""Am I the last or the first or what?"Parker moved to help her with her cloak.

　　"Sir Derek and her ladyship have not yet arrived, miss. Sir Derekwent to bring her ladyship from the Savoy Hotel. Mr Rooke is dressingin his bedroom and will be ready very shortly."The girl had slipped out of the fur coat, and Parker cast a swiftglance of approval at her. He had the valet's unerring eye for athoroughbred, and Jill Mariner was manifestly that. It showed in herwalk, in every move of her small, active body, in the way she lookedat you, in the way she talked to you, in the little tilt of herresolute chin. Her hair was pale gold, and had the brightness ofcoloring of a child's. Her face glowed, and her gray eyes sparkled.

　　She looked very much alive.

　　It was this aliveness of hers that was her chief charm. Her eyes weregood and her mouth, with its small, even, teeth, attractive, but shewould have laughed if anybody had called her beautiful. She sometimesdoubted if she were even pretty. Yet few men had met her and remainedentirely undisturbed. She had a magnetism. One hapless youth, who hadlaid his heart at her feet and had been commanded to pick it upagain, had endeavored subsequently to explain her attraction (to abosom friend over a mournful bottle of the best in the clubsmoking-room) in these words: "I don't know what it is about her, oldman, but she somehow makes a feller feel she's so damned _interested_in a chap, if you know what I mean." And, though not generallycredited in his circle with any great acuteness, there is no doubtthat the speaker had achieved something approaching a true analysisof Jill's fascination for his sex. She was interested in everythingLife presented to her notice, from a Coronation to a stray cat. Shewas vivid. She had sympathy. She listened to you as though you reallymattered. It takes a man of tough fibre to resist these qualities.

　　Women, on the other hand, especially of the Lady Underhill type, canresist them without an effort.

　　"Go and stir him up," said Jill, alluding to the absent Mr Rooke.

　　"Tell him to come and talk to me. Where's the nearest fire? I want toget right over it and huddle.""The fire's burning nicely in the sitting-room, miss."Jill hurried into the sitting-room, and increased her hold onParker's esteem by exclaiming rapturously at the sight that greetedher. Parker had expended time and trouble over the sitting-room.

　　There was no dust, no untidiness. The pictures all hung straight; thecushions were smooth and unrumpled; and a fire of exactly the rightdimensions burned cheerfully in the grate, flickering cosily on thesmall piano by the couch, on the deep leather arm-chairs whichFreddie had brought with him from Oxford, that home of comfortablechairs, and on the photographs that studded the walls. In the centerof the mantelpiece, the place of honor, was the photograph of herselfwhich she had given Derek a week ago.

　　"You're simply wonderful, Parker! I don't see how you manage to makea room so cosy!" Jill sat down on the club-fender that guarded thefireplace, and held her hands over the blaze. "I can't understand whymen ever marry. Fancy having to give up all this!""I am gratified that you appreciate it, miss. I did my best to makeit comfortable for you. I fancy I hear Mr Rooke coming now.""I hope the others won't be long. I'm starving. Has Mrs Parker gotsomething very good for dinner?""She has strained every nerve, miss.""Then I'm sure it's worth waiting for. Hullo, Freddie."Freddie Rooke, resplendent in evening dress, bustled in, patting histie with solicitous fingers. It had been right when he had looked inthe glass in his bedroom, but you never know about ties. Sometimesthey stay right, sometimes they wiggle up sideways. Life is full ofthese anxieties.

　　"I shouldn't touch it," said Jill. "It looks beautiful, and, if I maysay so in confidence, is having a most disturbing effect on myemotional nature. I'm not at all sure I shall be able to resist itright through the evening. It isn't fair of you to try to alienatethe affections of an engaged young person like this."Freddie squinted down, and became calmer.

　　"Hullo, Jill, old thing. Nobody here yet?""Well, I'm here,--the petite figure seated on the fender. But perhapsI don't count.""Oh, I didn't mean that, you know.""I should hope not, when I've bought a special new dress just tofascinate you. A creation I mean. When they cost as much as this onedid, you have to call them names. What do you think of it?"Freddie seated himself on another section of the fender, and regardedher with the eye of an expert. A snappy dresser, as the technicalterm is, himself, he appreciated snap in the outer covering of theother sex.

　　"Topping!" he said spaciously. "No other word for it! All wool and ayard wide! Precisely as mother makes it! You look like a thingummy.""How splendid! All my life I've wanted to look like a thingummy, butsomehow I've never been able to manage it.""A wood-nymph!" exclaimed Freddie, in a burst of unwonted imagery.

　　"Wood-nymphs didn't wear creations.""Well, you know what I mean!" He looked at her with honestadmiration. "Dash it, Jill, you know, there's something about you!

　　You're--what's the word?--you've got such small bones!""Ugh! I suppose it's a compliment, but how horrible it sounds! Itmakes me feel like a skeleton.""I mean to say, you're--you're dainty!""That's much better.""You look as if you weighed about an ounce and a half! You look likea bit of thistledown! You're a little fairy princess, dash it!""Freddie! This is eloquence!" Jill raised her left hand, and twiddleda ringed finger ostentatiously. "Er--you _do_ realize that I'mbespoke, don't you, and that my heart, alas, is another's? Becauseyou sound as if you were going to propose."Freddie produced a snowy handkerchief, and polished his eye-glass.

　　Solemnity descended on him like a cloud. He looked at Jill with anearnest, paternal gaze.

　　"That reminds me," he said. "I wanted to have, a bit of a talk withyou about that--being engaged and all that sort of thing. I'm glad Igot you alone before the Curse arrived.""Curse? Do you mean Derek's mother? That sounds cheerful andencouraging.""Well, she is, you know," said Freddie earnestly. "She's a bird! Itwould be idle to deny it. She always puts the fear of God into me. Inever know what to say to her.""Why don't you try asking her riddles?""It's no joking matter," persisted Freddie, his amiable faceovercast. "Wait till you meet her! You should have seen her at thestation this morning. You don't know what you're up against!""You make my flesh creep, Freddie. What am I up against?"Freddie poked the fire scientifically, and assisted it with coal.

　　"It's this way," he said. "Of course, dear old Derek's the finestchap in the world.""I know that," said Jill softly. She patted Freddie's hand with alittle gesture of gratitude. Freddie's devotion to Derek was a thingthat always touched her. She looked thoughtfully into the fire, andher eyes seemed to glow in sympathy with the glowing coals. "There'snobody like him!""But," continued Freddie, "he always has been frightfully under hismother's thumb, you know."Jill was conscious of a little flicker of irritation.

　　"Don't be absurd, Freddie. How could a man like Derek be underanybody's thumb?""Well, you know what I mean!""I don't in the least know what you mean.""I mean, it would be rather rotten if his mother set him againstyou."Jill clenched her teeth. The quick temper which always lurked so verylittle beneath the surface of her cheerfulness was stirred. She feltsuddenly chilled and miserable. She tried to tell herself thatFreddie was just an amiable blunderer who spoke without sense orreason, but it was no use. She could not rid herself of a feeling offoreboding and discomfort. It had been the one jarring note in thesweet melody of her love-story, this apprehension of Derek'sregarding his mother. The Derek she loved was a strong man, with astrong man's contempt for other people's criticism; and there hadbeen something ignoble and fussy in his attitude regarding LadyUnderhill. She had tried to feel that the flaw in her idol did notexist. And here was Freddie Rooke, a man who admired Derek with allhis hero-worshipping nature, pointing it out independently. She wasannoyed, and she expended her annoyance, as women will do, upon theinnocent bystander.

　　"Do you remember the time I turned the hose on you, Freddie," shesaid, rising from the fender, "years ago, when we were children, whenyou and that awful Mason boy--what was his name? Wally Mason--teasedme?" She looked at the unhappy Freddie with a hostile eye. It was hisblundering words that had spoiled everything. "I've forgotten what itwas all about, but I know that you and Wally infuriated me and Iturned the garden hose on you and soaked you both to the skin. Well,all I want to point out is that, if you go on talking nonsense aboutDerek and his mother and me, I shall ask Parker to bring me a jug ofwater, and I shall empty it over you! Set him against me! You talk asif love were a thing any third party could come along and turn offwith a tap! Do you suppose that, when two people love each other asDerek and I do, that it can possibly matter in the least what anybodyelse thinks or says, even if it is his mother? I haven't got amother, but suppose Uncle Chris came and warned me against Derek . . ."Her anger suddenly left her as quickly as it had come. That wasalways the way with Jill. One moment later she would be raging; thenext, something would tickle her sense of humor and restore herinstantly to cheerfulness. And the thought of dear, lazy old UncleChris taking the trouble to warn anybody against anything except thewrong brand of wine or an inferior make of cigar conjured up apicture before which wrath melted away. She chuckled, and Freddie,who had been wilting on the fender, perked up.

　　"You're an extraordinary girl, Jill! One never knows when you'regoing to get the wind up.""Isn't it enough to make me get the wind up, as you call it, when yousay absurd things like that?""I meant well, old girl!""That's the trouble with you. You always do mean well. You go aboutthe world meaning well till people fly to put themselves under policeprotection. Besides, what on earth could Lady Underhill find toobject to in me? I've plenty of money, and I'm one of the mostcharming and attractive of Society belles. You needn't take my wordfor that, and I don't suppose you've noticed it, but that's what MrGossip in the _Morning Mirror_ called me when he was writing about mygetting engaged to Derek. My maid showed me the clipping. There wasquite a long paragraph, with a picture of me that looked like a Zuluchieftainess taken in a coal-cellar during a bad fog. Well, afterthat, what could anyone say against me? I'm a perfect prize! I expectLady Underhill screamed with joy when she heard the news and wentsinging all over her Riviera villa.""Yes," said Freddie dubiously. "Yes, yes, oh, quite so, rather!"Jill looked at him sternly.

　　"Freddie, you're concealing something from me! You _don't_ think I'ma charming and attractive Society belle! Tell me why not and I'llshow you where you are wrong. Is it my face you object to, or mymanners, or my figure? There was a young bride of Antigua, who saidto her mate, 'What a pig you are!' Said he, 'Oh, my queen, is itmanners you mean, or do you allude to my fig-u-ar?' Isn't my figuarall right, Freddie?""Oh, _I_ think you're topping.""But for some reason you're afraid that Derek's mother won't thinkso. Why won't Lady Underhill agree with Mr Gossip?"Freddie hesitated.

　　"Speak up!""Well, it's like this. Remember I've known the old devil . . .""Freddie Rooke! Where do you pick up such expressions? Not from me!""Well, that's how I always think of her! I say I've known her eversince I used to go and stop at their place when I was at school, andI know exactly the sort of things that put her back up. She's awhat-d'you-call-it.""I see no harm in that. Why shouldn't the dear old lady be awhat-d'you-call-it? She must do _something_ in her spare time.""I mean to say, one of the old school, don't you know. And you're sodashed impulsive, old girl. You know you are! You are always sayingthings that come into your head.""You can't say a thing unless it comes into your head.""You know what I mean," Freddie went on earnestly, not to be divertedfrom his theme. "You say rummy things and you do rummy things. What Imean to say is, you're impulsive.""What have I ever done that the sternest critic could call rummy?""Well, I've seen you with my own eyes stop in the middle of BondStreet and help a lot of fellows shove along a cart that had gotstuck. Mind you, I'm not blaming you for it . . .""I should hope not. The poor old horse was trying all he knew to getgoing, and he couldn't quite make it. Naturally, I helped.""Oh, I know. Very decent and all that, but I doubt if Lady Underhillwould have thought a lot of it. And you're so dashed chummy with thelower orders.""Don't be a snob, Freddie.""I'm not a snob," protested Freddie, wounded. "When I'm alone withParker--for instance--I'm as chatty as dammit. But I don't askwaiters in public restaurants how their lumbago is.""Have you ever had lumbago?""No.""Well, it's a very painful thing, and waiters get it just as badly asdukes. Worse, I should think, because they're always bending andstooping and carrying things. Naturally one feels sorry for them.""But how do you ever find out that a waiter has _got_ lumbago?""I ask him; of course.""Well, for goodness sake," said Freddie, "if you feel the impulse todo that sort of thing tonight, try and restrain it. I mean to say, ifyou're curious to know anything about Parker's chilblains, forinstance, don't enquire after them while he's handing Lady Underhillthe potatoes! She wouldn't like it."Jill uttered an exclamation.

　　"I knew there was something! Being so cold and wanting to rush in andcrouch over a fire put it clean out of my head. He must be thinkingme a perfect beast!" She ran to the door. "Parker! Parker!"Parker appeared from nowhere.

　　"Yes, miss?""I'm so sorry I forgot to ask before. How are your chilblains?""A good deal better, miss, thank you.""Did you try the stuff I recommended?""Yes, miss. It did them a world of good.""Splendid!"Jill went back into the sitting-room.

　　"It's all right," she said reassuringly. "They're better."She wandered restlessly about the room, looking at the photographs.

　　"What a lot of girls you seem to know, Freddie. Are these all theones you've loved and lost?" She sat down at the piano and touchedthe keys. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the half hour. "I wishto goodness they would arrive," she said.

　　"They'll be here pretty soon, I expect.""It's rather awful," said Jill, "to think of Lady Underhill racingall the way from Mentone to Paris and from Paris to Calais and fromCalais to Dover and from Dover to London simply to inspect me. Youcan't wonder I'm nervous, Freddie."The eye-glass dropped from Freddie's eye.

　　"Are _you_ nervous?" he asked, astonished.

　　"Of course I'm nervous. Wouldn't you be in my place?""Well, I should never have thought it.""Why do you suppose I've been talking such a lot? Why do you imagineI snapped your poor, innocent head off just now? I'm terrifiedinside, terrified!""You don't look it, by Jove!""No, I'm trying to be a little warrior. That's what Uncle Chrisalways used to call me. It started the day when he took me to have atooth out, when I was ten. 'Be a little warrior, Jill!' he keptsaying--'Be a little warrior!' And I was." She looked at the clock.

　　"But I shan't be if they don't get here soon. The suspense is awful."She strummed the keys. "Suppose she _doesn't_ like me, Freddie! Yousee how you've scared me.""I didn't say she wouldn't. I only said you'd got to watch out abit.""Something tells me she won't. My nerve is oozing out of me." Jillshook her head impatiently. "It's all so vulgar! I thought this sortof thing only happened in the comic papers and in music-hall songs.

　　Why, it's just like that song somebody used to sing." She laughed.

　　"Do you remember? I don't know how the verse went, but . . .

　　John took me round to see his mother,his mother,his mother!

　　And when he'd introduced us to each other,She sized up everything that I had on.

　　She put me through a cross-examination:

　　I fairly boiled with aggravation:

　　Then she shook her head,Looked at me and said:

　　'Poor John! Poor John!'

　　"Chorus, Freddie! Let's cheer ourselves up! We need it!"'John took me round to see his mother . . . !

　　"His mo-o-o-other!" croaked Freddie. Curiously enough, this balladwas one of Freddie's favorites. He had rendered it with a good dealof success on three separate occasions at village entertainments downin Worcestershire, and he rather flattered himself that he could getabout as much out of it as the next man. He proceeded to abet Jillheartily with gruff sounds which he was under the impressionconstituted what is known in musical circles as "singing seconds.""His mo-o-o-other!" he growled with frightful scorn.

　　"And when she'd introduced us to each other . . .""O-o-o-other!""She sized up everything that I had on!""Pom-pom-pom!""She put me through a cross-examination . . ."Jill had thrown her head back, and was singing jubilantly at the topof her voice. The appositeness of the song had cheered her up. Itseemed somehow to make her forebodings rather ridiculous, to reducethem to absurdity, to turn into farce the gathering tragedy which hadbeen weighing upon her nerves.

　　"Then she shook her head,Looked at me and said:

　　'Poor John!' . . .""Jill," said a voice at the door. "I want you to meet my mother!""Poo-oo-oor John!" bleated the hapless Freddie, unable to checkhimself.

　　"Dinner," said Parker the valet, appearing at the door and breaking asilence that seemed to fill the room like a tangible presence, "isserved!"