They were standing together at one end of the Crimson State Saloon after dinner. Lucius chuckled, and said: “Oh, she’ll suit Bevis well enough!”

“I hope she may. She wouldn’t suit me!” said the Captain. He glanced round the ornate room. “This is a horrid party!” he decided. “What the devil made Saltash dish up all his relations? Enough to make the girl cry off! Lord, here’s my uncle bearing down on us! I wish I hadn’t been fool enough to come!”

“Well, my dear boy!” said the Archdeacon, in mellifluous accents, and laying an affectionate hand on one of the Captain’s great shoulders. “And how is it with you? I need not ask, however: you are in a capital way! A happy event this, is it not?”

“Yes, if Bevis thinks so,” replied the Captain.

The Archdeacon thought it best to ignore the implication of this. He said: “A young female of the first consequence! But come, now! When, you great creature, are we to be celebrating your approaching nuptials?”

“Not yet, sir: I’m not in the petticoat-line. And if ever I do become engaged,” he added, his blue gaze wandering thoughtfully round the room, “I wouldn’t celebrate the event in this fashion, by Jupiter!”

“Well!” remarked Lucius, as their uncle, with a sweet, mechanical smile, moved away, “you do know how to repulse the enemy, don’t you, Jack?”

“I didn’t mean to. Do you think he was offended?” Captain Staple broke off, his eyes widening in suspicion and dismay. “Good God, Lucius, just look at that!” he ejaculated.

Lucius, following the direction of his horrified gaze, saw that a footman had entered the Saloon, tenderly bearing a gilded harp.