“I was aware of it,” said Liosha seriously.  “Euphemia was not.  She knows less than nothing.  I asked her for the money.  She refused.  I saw an automobile close by.  I entered.  I said, ’Drive me to Mr. Jaff Chayne, he will give me the money.’  He asked where Mr. Jaff Chayne was.  I said he was staying with Mr. Freeth, at Northlands, Harston, Berkshire.  I am not a fool like Euphemia.  I remember.  I left Euphemia standing on the sidewalk with her mouth open like that”—­she made the funniest grimace in the world—­“and the automobile brought me here to get some money to buy the chickens.”  She held out her hand to Jaffery.

“Confound the chickens,” he cried.  “It’s the taxi I’m thinking of—­ticking out tuppences, to say nothing of the mileage.  Liosha,” said he, in a milder roar, “it’s no use thinking of buying chickens this afternoon.  It’s Saturday and the shops are shut.  You go home before that automobile has ticked out bankruptcy and ruin.  Go back to the Savoy and make your peace with Euphemia, like a good girl, and on Monday I’ll talk to you about the chickens.”

She sat up straight in her chair.

“You must take me somewhere else.  I’ve got no use for Euphemia.”

“But where else can I take you?” cried Jaffery aghast.

“I don’t know.  You know best where people go to in England.  Doesn’t he?” She included us all in a smile.

“But you must go back to Euphemia till Monday, at any rate.”

“And she has arranged such a nice little programme for you,” said Adrian.  “A lecture on Tolstoi to-night and the City Temple to-morrow.  Pity to miss ’em.”

“If I saw any more of Euphemia, I might hurt her,” said Liosha.

“Oh, Lord!” said Jaffery.  “But you must go somewhere.”  He turned to me with a groan.  “Look here, old chap.  It’s awfully rough luck, but I must take her back to the Savoy and mount guard over her so that she doesn’t break my poor sister’s neck.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as that,” said Liosha.

“How far would you go?” Adrian asked politely, with the air of one seeking information.

“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” Jaffery turned on him savagely.  “Can’t you see the position I’m in?”

“I’m very sorry you’re angry, Jaff Chayne,” said Liosha with a certain kind dignity.  “But these are your friends.  Their house is yours.  Why should I not stay here with you?”

“Here?  Good God!” cried Jaffery.

“Yes, why not?” said Barbara, who had set out to teach this lady manners.

“The very thing,” said I.

Jaffery declared the idea to be nonsense.  Barbara and I protested, growing warmer in our protestations as the argument continued.  Nothing would give us such unimaginable pleasure as to entertain Mrs. Prescott.  Liosha laid her hand on Jaffery’s arm.

“But why shouldn’t they have me?  When a stranger asks for hospitality in Albania he is invited to walk right in and own the place.  Is it refused in England?”