Gardner was well enough, a lean soldierly-looking man, brown with the African sun, with pleasant twinkling blue eyes, a thick moustache and curly hair, just a little thin on the top.  His face was rather scarred with African adventure and did not show much special trace of his last night’s tussle with the police.  There was a cut at the back of his head where he had fallen on the kerb stone but that was neatly plastered, and you do not turn your back much on a hostess, at any rate on first introduction.

But Vivie had obviously been in the wars.  She had—­frankly—­a black eye, a cut and swollen lip, and her ordinarily well-shaped nose was a trifle swollen and reddened.  But her eyes likewise were twinkling, though the bruised one was bloodshot.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Rossiter, to be introduced to you like this.  I don’t know what you will think of me.  It’s the first time I’ve been in a really bad row....  We were trying to get to the House of Commons, but the police interfered and gave us the full privileges of a man as regards their fists.  Captain Gardner here—­who is an old friend of mine—­intervened, or I’m afraid I shouldn’t have got off as cheaply as I did.  And your husband kindly came to the police court to testify to our good character, and then invited us to lunch.”

Mrs. Rossiter:  “Why how your voice reminds me of some one who used to come here a good deal at one time—­a Mr. David Williams.  I suppose he isn’t any relation?”

Vivie (while Frank Gardner looks a little astonished):  “Oh—­my cousin.  I knew you knew him.  He has often talked to me about you.  I’ll tell you about David by and bye, Frank.”

At this interchange of Christian names Mrs. Rossiter thinks she understands the situation:  they are engaged, have been since last night’s rescue.  But what extraordinary people the dear Professor does pick up!  Have they got ductless glands, she wonders?

Rossiter who has been fidgeting through this dialogue considers that lunch is ready, so they proceed to the small dining-room, “the breakfast-room.”  Mrs. Rossiter was always very proud of having a small drawing-room (otherwise, “me boudwor”) and a small dining-room.  It prepared the way for greater magnificence at big parties and also enabled one to be cosier with a few friends.

At luncheon: 

Mrs. Rossiter to Frank Gardner, archly:  “I suppose you’ve come home to be married?”

Frank:  “Oh no!  I’m not a bigamist, I’ve got a wife already and four children, and jolly glad I shall be to get back to ’em.  I can’t stand much of the English climate, after getting so used to South African sunshine.  No.  I came on a business trip to England, leaving my old dear out at the farm near Salisbury, with the kids—­we’ve got a nice English governess who helps her to look after ’em.  A year or two hence I hope to bring ’em over to see