We all three sat reading in silence till ten, when Carrie and I rose to go to bed.  Carrie said to Lupin:  “I hope Daisy is well?”

Lupin, with a forced careless air that he must have picked up from the “Holloway Comedians,” replied:  “Oh, Daisy?  You mean Miss Mutlar.  I don’t know whether she is well or not, but please never to mention her name again in my presence.”

CHAPTER XI

We have a dose of Irving imitations.  Make the acquaintance of a Mr. Padge.  Don’t care for him.  Mr. Burwin-Fosselton becomes a nuisance.

November 20.—­Have seen nothing of Lupin the whole day.  Bought a cheap address-book.  I spent the evening copying in the names and addresses of my friends and acquaintances.  Left out the Mutlars of course.

November 21.—­Lupin turned up for a few minutes in the evening.  He asked for a drop of brandy with a sort of careless look, which to my mind was theatrical and quite ineffective.  I said:  “My boy, I have none, and I don’t think I should give it you if I had.”  Lupin said:  “I’ll go where I can get some,” and walked out of the house.  Carrie took the boy’s part, and the rest of the evening was spent in a disagreeable discussion, in which the words “Daisy” and “Mutlar” must have occurred a thousand times.

November 22.—­Gowing and Cummings dropped in during the evening.  Lupin also came in, bringing his friend, Mr. Burwin-Fosselton—­one of the “Holloway Comedians”—­who was at our party the other night, and who cracked our little round table.  Happy to say Daisy Mutlar was never referred to.  The conversation was almost entirely monopolised by the young fellow Fosselton, who not only looked rather like Mr. Irving, but seemed to imagine that he was the celebrated actor.  I must say he gave some capital imitations of him.  As he showed no signs of moving at supper time, I said:  “If you like to stay, Mr. Fosselton, for our usual crust—­pray do.”  He replied:  “Oh! thanks; but please call me Burwin-Fosselton.  It is a double name.  There are lots of Fosseltons, but please call me Burwin-Fosselton.”

He began doing the Irving business all through supper.  He sank so low down in his chair that his chin was almost on a level with the table, and twice he kicked Carrie under the table, upset his wine, and flashed a knife uncomfortably near Gowing’s face.  After supper he kept stretching out his legs on the fender, indulging in scraps of quotations from plays which were Greek to me, and more than once knocked over the fire-irons, making a hideous row—­poor Carrie already having a bad head-ache.

When he went, he said, to our surprise:  “I will come to-morrow and bring my Irving make-up.”  Gowing and Cummings said they would like to see it and would come too.  I could not help thinking they might as well give a party at my house while they are about it.  However, as Carrie sensibly said:  “Do anything, dear, to make Lupin forget the Daisy Mutlar business.”