Nell was as much astonished as she was delighted to perceive, on arrival in King Street, that her graceless but beloved brother was rather inexpertly dancing the boulanger, with a quiet-looking girl for his partner. He explained to her presently that he had never been so taken-in before. “Ay, you may well stare!” he said, his angelic blue eyes kindling with indignation.

She could not help laughing, but she said: “Oh, Dy, what a wretch you are, when you wouldn’t come with me, and said wild horses couldn’t drag you here!”

“It wasn’t wild horses,” he replied darkly. “They couldn’t have done it! It was old Mother Wenlock! Beckoned to me to come up to that antiquated landaulette of hers in Bond Street this morning, and said I must dine in Brook Street to meet her niece. Of course I said I was engaged with a party of friends, but I might as well have spared my breath. Of all the devilish things, Nell, these shocking old hags who are hand-in-glove with Mama are the worst! Mind, if I’d known she meant to drag me to Almack’s she could have said what she chose, I wouldn’t have budged! I ain’t a dancing man, you can’t get a thing to drink but lemonade and orgeat—and of the two, damned if I’d not as lief drink lemonade!—and this precious niece, whom she swore was a ravishing girl is nothing but a dowdy!”

“Ought to have known she would be,” said Mr. Hethersett, from the depths of his worldly wisdom.

“Why?” demanded the Viscount.

In other company Mr. Hethersett would have answered him with brutal frankness, but under Nell’s innocently enquiring gaze his courage failed, and he said he didn’t know. After all, one couldn’t tell an adoring sister that no chaperon in her senses would invite Dysart to gallant a ravishing girl to a party.