“No, of course not!” said Mr Trevor, shocked.

“Well, what, in heaven’s name, has made you suddenly queer in your attic?”

“I’m not! I mean — ”

“You must be. Never before, in the three years of our association, have you failed to make my excuses to my more importunate relatives! As for encouraging the dirty dishes amongst them — ”

“That I am persuaded they are not, sir! I fancy they may not be affluent, but — ”

“Dirty dishes,” repeated his lordship firmly. “When one considers that my sister believes herself to be living quite out of the world in Grosvenor Place, what can one think of persons owning to Upper Wimpole Street? And if — ” he glanced down at the letter again — ”and if this F. Merriville is the daughter of the only member of the family with whom I ever had the slightest acquaintance you may depend upon it she hasn’t a souse, and hopes I may be so obliging as to remedy this.”

“No, no!” Mr Trevor said. “I hope I know better than to encourage such persons as that!”

“So do I,” agreed his lordship. He lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Friends of yours, Charles?”

“I never saw them before in my life, sir,” replied Mr Trevor stiffly. “I should perhaps assure your lordship that I should consider it grossly improper to try to introduce any of my friends to your notice.”

“Well, don’t poker up about it! I really didn’t mean to insult you,” said Alverstoke mildly.

“No, sir, of course not!” Mr Trevor said, mollified. “I beg pardon! The thing is — Well, I had best explain to you how it came about that I did meet Miss Merriville!”

“Do!” invited Alverstoke.

“She brought the letter herself,” disclosed Mr Trevor. “The carriage drew up just as I was about to enter the house — you see, you gave me very little to do today, so I thought you wouldn’t object to it if I went out to purchase some new neck-cloths for myself!”