“It’s the name of a rather fiery savoury,” said I.

“In a circus!” she continued.

“Well,” said I, “the ring of a circus is not essentially one of the circles in Dante’s Inferno.”

“Of course, my dear Simon,” she said, with some impatience, “if you defend him—­”

I hastened to interrupt her.  “I don’t.  I think he is an egregious young idiot; but before taking action it’s well to get a clear idea of the facts.  By the way, how do you know she’s not painted?”

“I’ve seen her—­seen her with my own eyes in Dale’s company—­at the Savoy.  He’s there supping with her every night.  General Lamont told me.  I wouldn’t believe it—­Dale flaunting about in public with her.  The General offered to take me there after the inaugural meeting of the International Aid Society at Grosvenor House.  I went, and saw them together.  I shall never forget the look in the boy’s eyes till my dying day.  She has got him body and soul.  One reads of such things in the poets, one sees it in pictures; but I’ve never come across it in real life—­never, never.  It’s dreadful, horrible, revolting.  To think that a son of mine, brought up from babyhood to calculate all his actions with mathematical precision, should be guilty of this profligacy!  It’s driving me mad, Simon; it really is.  I don’t know what to do.  I’ve come to the end of my resources.  It’s your turn now.  The boy worships you.”

A wild appeal burned in her eyes and was refracted oddly through her near-sighted spectacles.  I had never seen her betray emotion before during all the years of our friendship.  The look and the tone of her voice moved me.  I expressed my sympathy and my readiness to do anything in my power to snatch the infatuated boy from the claw and fang of the syren and hale him to the forgiving feet of Maisie Ellerton.  Indeed, such a chivalrous adventure had vaguely passed through my mind during my exalted mood at Murglebed-on-Sea.  But then I knew little beyond the fact that Dale was fluttering round an undesirable candle.  Till now I had no idea of the extent to which his wings were singed.

“Hasn’t Dale spoken to you about this creature?” his mother asked.

“Young men of good taste keep these things from their elders, my dear Lady Kynnersley,” said I.

“But you knew of it?”

“In a dim sort of way.”

“Oh, Simon—­”

“The baby boys of Dale’s set regard taking out the chorus to supper as a solemn religious rite.  They wouldn’t think themselves respectable if they didn’t.  I’ve done it myself—­in moderation—­when I was very young.”

“Men are mysteries,” sighed Lady Kynnersley.

“Please regard them as such,” said I, with a laugh, “and let Dale alone.  Allow him to do whatever irrational thing he likes, save bringing the lady here to tea.  If you try to tear him away from her he’ll only cling to her the closer.  If you trumpet abroad her infamy he’ll proclaim her a slandered and martyred saint.  Leave him to me for the present.”