“He must have thought you a very simple and charming young Englishman,” said I.

“You’ve done the same thing yourself!” he retorted indignantly.

“Pardon me,” said I.  “If I do send a telegram in that loose way, I choose a humble and honest-looking porter and give him the exact fee for the telegram and a winning smile.”

“Rot!” said Dale, and turning to Lola—­“He has demoralised the whole railway system of Europe with his tips.  I’ve seen him give a franc to the black greasy devil that bangs at the carriage wheels with a bit of iron.  He would give anybody anything.”

He had recovered his boyish pride in my ridiculous idiosyncracies, and was in process of illustrating again to Lola what a “splendid chap” I was.  Poor lad!  If he only knew what a treacherous, traitorous, Machiavelli of a hero he had got.  For the moment I suffered from a nasty crick in the conscience.

“Wouldn’t he, Adolphus, you celestial old blackguard?” he laughed.  Then suddenly:  “My hat!  You two are fond of darkness!  It gives me the creeps.  Do you mind, Lola, if I turn on the light?”

He marched in his young way across to the switches and set the room in the blaze he loved.  My crick of the conscience was followed by an impulse of resentment.  He took it for granted that his will was law in the house.  He swaggered around the room with a proprietary air.  He threw in the casual “Lola” as if he owned her.  Dale is the most delightful specimen of the modern youth of my acquaintance.  But even Dale, with all his frank charm of manner, has the modern youth’s offhand way with women.  I often wonder how women abide it.  But they do, more shame to them, and suffer more than they realise by their indulgence.  When next I meet Maisie Ellerton I will read her a wholesome lecture, for her soul’s good, on the proper treatment a self-respecting female should apply to the modern young man.

Dale filled the room with his clear young laugh, and turned on every light in the place.  Lola and I exchanged glances—­she had adopted her usual lazy pantherine attitude in the armchair—­and her glance was not that of a happy woman to whom a longed-for lover had unexpectedly come.  Its real significance I could not divine, but it was more wistful than merely that of a fellow-conspirator.

“By George!” cried Dale, pulling up a chair by Lola’s side, and stretching out his long, well-trousered legs in front of the fire.  “It’s good to come back to civilisation and a Christian language and a fireside—­and other things,” he added, squeezing Lola’s hand.  “If only it had not been for this horrible news about you, dear old man——­”

“Oh, do forget it and give me a little peace!” I cried.  “Why have you come back all of a sudden?”

“The Wymington people wired for me.  It seems the committee are divided between me and Sir Gerald Macnaughton.”

“He has strong claims,” said I.  “He has been Mayor of the place and got knighted by mistake.  He also gives large dinners and wears a beautiful diamond pin.”