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'Lord Borrodaile! He was standing at the little iron gate waiting for his hostess, who had stopped to speak to one of the gardeners. 'Wait a moment! Vida called, and went swiftly down the grass path. He had turned and was advancing to meet her. Tell me about old, half-forgotten pictures or about young rose trees. 'Is something the matter? 'I'm ruffled.

They hadn't stopped there to be made to think if they weren't going to be amused, they'd go home. A certain number did go home, after pausing to ask the young Reformer, more or less good-humouredly, why she didn't get married. Lord Borrodaile had privately asked for enlightenment on the same score. Vida had only smiled.

Then I saw the man carefully tilt the toy horse up by the rope. I stood and watched the successful surmounting of the obstacle, and the triumphant progress as before sun-bonnet flapping, smoke curling. Of course the man was content! He had lost the battle. You saw that in his lined face. What did it matter? He held the future by a string. Lord Borrodaile lifted his eyes and looked at her.

Freddy's gown showed her out of earshot on the balcony. 'I've got something here really rather wonderful, Lord Borrodaile went on, with that infrequent kindling of enthusiasm. He had taken one of the unmounted photographs from between its two bits of cardboard and was holding it up before his eyeglass.

The following afternoon, at half-past five, the carelessly dressed, rather slouching figure of Lord Borrodaile might have been seen walking along the Thames Embankment in the neighbourhood of Pimlico Pier.

And whether he suspects anything, or has a glimmer of the truth, I do not know. If he has, he keeps it to himself, and he and I never refer to it. And we let Sir Jacob Borrodaile find another attache. Since all these events whose history I have set down happened I have lived a very quiet life at a small house which I have taken in the country.

"That is to say," continued Borrodaile with calm relish, "my opponent, whose strong suit for the last twenty years has been to cry down the horrors of militarism, and the madness of national service, and the unwieldy size of the British Empire, is now compelled to spend his evenings taking the chair at mass meetings for the encouragement of recruiting.

Part and parcel of his fastidiousness, some said others, that from his Eton days he had always been a lazy beggar. As though to show that he did not shrink from reasonable responsibility towards his female impedimenta, any inquiry as to the absence of Lady Borrodaile was met by reference to Sophia.

Each time Sophia laughingly arrested him. 'He wants to go on, reported Borrodaile, sympathetically. 'She wants him to wait a minute. Now he's jumped out. What's he looking for another hansom? No now she's out. Bless me, she's shaking hands with him. He's back in the hansom! driving away. Sophia's actually 'Pon my soul, I don't know what's come over the women!

Lady John filled it once, filled it twice, and turned the contents out each time into the gaping pot. Then, absent-mindedly, she paused, eyeing the approaching party, that genial silver-haired despot, her husband, walking with Lord Borrodaile, the gawky girl between them, except when she paused to practise a drive.