“Do you know the receipt for cooking an olive, Arnold?”

“No.”

“What does the new generation know?  It knows how to row, how to shoot, how to play at cricket, and how to bat.  When it has lost its muscle and lost its money—­that is to say, when it has grown old—­what a generation it will be!  It doesn’t matter:  I sha’n’t live to see it.  Are you listening, Arnold?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“How to cook an olive!  Put an olive into a lark, put a lark into a quail; put a quail into a plover; put a plover into a partridge; put a partridge into a pheasant; put a pheasant into a turkey.  Good.  First, partially roast, then carefully stew—­until all is thoroughly done down to the olive.  Good again.  Next, open the window.  Throw out the turkey, the pheasant, the partridge, the plover, the quail, and the lark. Then, eat the olive. The dish is expensive, but (we have it on the highest authority) well worth the sacrifice.  The quintessence of the flavor of six birds, concentrated in one olive.  Grand idea!  Try another glass of the white Burgundy, Arnold.”

At last the servants left them—­with the wine and dessert on the table.

“I have borne it as long as I can, Sir,” said Arnold.  “Add to all your kindness to me by telling me at once what happened at Lady Lundie’s.”

It was a chilly evening.  A bright wood fire was burning in the room.  Sir Patrick drew his chair to the fire.

“This is exactly what happened,” he said.  “I found company at Lady Lundie’s, to begin with.  Two perfect strangers to me.  Captain Newenden, and his niece, Mrs. Glenarm.  Lady Lundie offered to see me in another room; the two strangers offered to withdraw.  I declined both proposals.  First check to her ladyship!  She has reckoned throughout, Arnold, on our being afraid to face public opinion.  I showed her at starting that we were as ready to face it as she was.  ’I always accept what the French call accomplished facts,’ I said.  ’You have brought matters to a crisis, Lady Lundie.  So let it be.  I have a word to say to my niece (in your presence, if you like); and I have another word to say to you afterward—­without presuming to disturb your guests.’  The guests sat down again (both naturally devoured by curiosity).  Could her ladyship decently refuse me an interview with my own niece, while two witnesses were looking on?  Impossible.  I saw Blanche (Lady Lundie being present, it is needless to say) in the back drawing-room.  I gave her your letter; I said a good word for you; I saw that she was sorry, though she wouldn’t own it—­and that was enough.  We went back into the front drawing-room.  I had not spoken five words on our side of the question before it appeared, to my astonishment and delight, that Captain Newenden was in the house on the very question that had brought me into the house—­the question of you and Miss Silvester.  My business, in the interests of my niece,