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There is something deep down in the soul of Lola Brandt which sets her apart from the kindly race of womankind; whether it is the devil or a touch of pre-Adamite splendour or an ancestral catamount, I make no attempt to determine. At any rate, she is too grand a creature to fritter her life away on a statistic-hunting and pheasant-shooting young Briton like Dale Kynnersley.
I was trying to rehabilitate myself when the chasseur brought me a telegram. I asked permission to open it, and stepped aside. The words of the telegram were like a ringing box on the ears. "Tell me immediately why Lola has joined you in Algiers. Not "Dale," mark you, as he has signed himself ever since I knew him in Eton collars, but "Kynnersley." Why has Lola joined you?
After that I grew better, and drew up a merry little Commination Service. A plague on the little pain inside. A plague on Lady Kynnersley for weeping me into my rash undertaking. A plague on Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos for aiding and abetting Lady Kynnersley.
I left her in a state of joyous stupefaction and made my escape. If it had not fallen in with my general scheme of good works I should regard it as an expensive method of avoiding unpleasant questions. Another philanthropist, by the way, of quite a different type from Lady Kynnersley, who has lately benefited by my eleemosynary mania is Rex Campion.
She rode in a circus or had a talking horse he was not quite sure; and concerning her conjugal or extra-conjugal heart affairs he admitted that his information was either unauthenticated or conjectural. At any rate, she had not a shred of reputation. And she didn't want it, said Renniker; it would be as much use to her as a diving suit. "She has young Dale Kynnersley in tow," he remarked.
"I'll do so gladly," said Lady Kynnersley, with surprising meekness. "But you will bring him back, Simon? I've arranged for him to marry Maisie. I can't have my plans for the future upset." By-law 379! Dear, excellent, but wooden-headed woman! "I have your promise, haven't I?" she said, her hand in mine. "You have," said I nobly.
I went forward and greeted her. "Lady Kynnersley," said I, "somebody was telling me that you are in urgent need of funds for something. With my usual wooden-headedness I have forgotten what it is but I know it is a deserving organisation." The philanthropist, as I hoped, ousted the mother. She exclaimed at once: "It must have been the Cabmen and Omnibus Drivers' Rheumatic Hospital."
For, as we stood holding on to each other's shoulders in a ridiculous and compromising attitude, the door opened and Dale Kynnersley burst, unannounced, into the room. He paused on the threshold and gaped at us, open-mouthed. We sprang apart, for all the world like a guilty pair surprised.
To my confusion be it spoken, I forgot all about Dale Kynnersley and my mission. The lazy voice and rich personality fascinated me. When I rose to go I found I had spent a couple of hours in her company. She took me round the room and showed me some of her treasures. "This is very old. I think it is fifteenth century," she said, picking up an Italian ivory. It was. I expressed my admiration.
And then I know a lot of silly asses with motor-cars who'll come down. They can't talk for cob-nuts, and think the Local Option has something to do with vivisection, and have a vague idea that champagne will be cheaper if we get Tariff Reform but they'll make a devil of a noise at meetings and tote people round the country in their cars holding banners with 'Vote for Kynnersley' on them.
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