Harold Jupp, of the inquiring mind, still stood looking down on Lady Splay without any softening of his face.

“What for?” he asked.

Lady Splay groaned in despair.

“Oh, I was sure you were going to ask that.  You are so unpleasant.”  She put her hand to her forehead.  “But I know quite well.  Yes, I do.”  Her face suddenly cleared.  “He is a conversationalist—­that’s it—­a great conversationalist.  He is the sort of man,” she spoke as one repeating a lesson, “who would have been welcome at the breakfast table of Mr. Rogers.”

“Rogers?” Harold Jupp asked sternly.  “I don’t know him.”

“And probably never will, Harold, I am sorry to say,” said Lady Splay triumphantly.  “Mr. Rogers was in heaven many years ago.”  She suddenly changed her note and began to implore.  “Oh, do be pleasant, you and Dennis!”

Harold Jupp’s mouth began to twitch, but he composed it again, with an effort, to the stern lines befitting the occasion.

“I’ll tell you what I think, Lady Splay,” said he, pronouncing judgment.  “Your new guest’s a Plater.”

The dreadful expected word was spoken.  Lady Splay broke into appeals, denials, threats.  “Oh, he isn’t, he isn’t!” She turned to her husband.  “Chichester, exert your authority!  He’s not a Plater really.  He’s not right down the course.  And even if he were, they’ve got to be polite to him.”

Sir Chichester, however, was the last man who could be lured into the expression of a definite opinion.

“My dear, I never interfere in the arrangements of the house.  You have your realm.  I have mine.  I am sure those papers are being kept in the servants’ hall,” and he left the room hurriedly.

“Oh, how mean men are!” cried Millie; and they all began to laugh.

Lady Splay saw a glimpse of hope in their laughter and became much more cheerful.

“As you are not racing, dear,” she said to Joan, “he will be quite a pleasant companion for you.”

Sir Chichester returned with the evening papers.  Dennis and Miranda and Harold Jupp rose to go upstairs and change into flannels; and suddenly, a good hour before his time, Harper, the butler, announced: 

“Mr. Albany Todd.”

Mr. Albany Todd was a stout, consequential personage, and ovoid in appearance.  Thin legs broadened out to very wide hips, and from the hips he curved in again to a bald and shiny head, which in its turn curved inwards to a high, narrow crown.  Lady Splay casting a look of appeal towards her refractory young guests hurried forward to meet him.

“This is my husband.”  She presented him to the others.  “I was going to send the motor-car to meet the seven o’clock train.”

“Oh, thank you, Lady Splay,” Mr. Albany Todd returned in a booming voice.  “I have been staying not more than twenty miles from here, with a dear old friend, a rare and inestimable being, Lord Bilberry, and he was kind enough to send me in.”