“We have been pals for years,” said George “Billie is one of the best fellows in the world.”

“A charming girl.”

“She would give her last nickel to anyone that asked for it.”

“Delightful!”

“And as straight as a string.  No one ever said a word against Billie.”

“No?”

“She may go out to lunch and supper and all that kind of thing, but there’s nothing to that.”

“Nothing!” agreed the earl warmly.  “Girls must eat!”

“They do.  You ought to see them.”

“A little harmless relaxation after the fatigue of the day!”

“Exactly.  Nothing more.”

Lord Marshmoreton felt more drawn than ever to this sensible young man—­sensible, at least, on all points but one.  It was a pity they could not see eye to eye on what was and what was not suitable in the matter of the love-affairs of the aristocracy.

“So you are a composer, Mr. Bevan?” he said affably.

“Yes.”

Lord Marshmoreton gave a little sigh.  “It’s a long time since I went to see a musical performance.  More than twenty years.  When I was up at Oxford, and for some years afterwards, I was a great theatre-goer.  Never used to miss a first night at the Gaiety.  Those were the days of Nellie Farren and Kate Vaughan.  Florence St. John, too.  How excellent she was in Faust Up To Date!  But we missed Nellie Farren.  Meyer Lutz was the Gaiety composer then.  But a good deal of water has flowed under the bridge since those days.  I don’t suppose you have ever heard of Meyer Lutz?”

“I don’t think I have.”

“Johnnie Toole was playing a piece called Partners.  Not a good play.  And the Yeoman of the Guard had just been produced at the Savoy.  That makes it seem a long time ago, doesn’t it?  Well, I mustn’t take up all your time.  Good-bye, Mr. Bevan.  I am glad to have had the opportunity of this little talk.  The Regal Theatre, I think you said, is where your piece is playing?  I shall probably be going to London shortly.  I hope to see it.”  Lord Marshmoreton rose.  “As regards the other matter, there is no hope of inducing you to see the matter in the right light?”

“We seem to disagree as to which is the right light.”

“Then there is nothing more to be said.  I will be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Bevan.  I like you . . .”

“The feeling is quite mutual.”

“But I don’t want you as a son-in-law.  And, dammit,” exploded Lord Marshmoreton, “I won’t have you as a son-in-law!  Good God! do you think that you can harry and assault my son Percy in the heart of Piccadilly and generally make yourself a damned nuisance and then settle down here without an invitation at my very gates and expect to be welcomed into the bosom of the family?  If I were a young man . . .”

“I thought we had agreed that you were a young man.”

“Don’t interrupt me!”

“I only said . . .”