stump of the first. After a while Lakington finished his cleaning operations and put on his coat.
"What," he asked curiously, "does he think you are?"
"A charming young girl," answered Irma demurely, "whose father lost his life in the war, and who at present ekes out a precarious existence in a government office. At least, that's what he told Lady Frumpley—she's the woman of unassailable virtue. She was profoundly sentimental and scents a romance, in addition to being a snob and scenting a future duke, to say nothing of a future duchess. By the mercy of Allah she's on a committee with his mother for distributing brown-paper under-clothes to destitute Belgians, and so Freddie wangled an invite for her. Voilà tout."
"Splendid!" said Lakington slowly. "Splendid! Young Laidley comes of age in about a week, doesn't he?"
"Monday, to be exact, and so I go down with my dear aunt on Saturday."
Lakington nodded his head as if satisfied, and then glanced at his watch.
"What about bed?" he remarked.
"Not yet," said Peterson, halting suddenly in his walk. "I must see the Yank before I go to Paris. We'll have him down here now."
"My dear Carl, at this hour?" Lakington stifled a yawn.
"Yes. Give him an injection, Henry—and, by God, we'll make the fool sign. Then I can actually take it over to the meeting with me."
