‘Perhaps I can explain better than Pellin can,’ said Ronald hurriedly; ‘the fact is, I was dining at the Norridrum’s yesterday, and they were wishing they had a swell cook like yours, just for today and tomorrow, while they’ve got some gourmet staying with them; their own cook is no earthly good—well, you’ve seen what she turns out when she’s at all flurried. So I thought it would be rather sporting to play them at baccarat for the loan of our cook against a money stake, and I lost, that’s all. I have had rotten luck at baccarat all this year.’

The remainder of his explanation, of how he had assured the cooks that the temporary transfer had his mother’s sanction, and had smuggled the one out and the other in during the maternal absence, was drowned in the outcry of scandalised upbraiding.

‘If I had sold the woman into slavery there couldn’t have been a bigger fuss about it,’ he confided afterwards to Bertie Norridrum, ‘and Eleanor Saxelby raged and ramped the louder of the two. I tell you what, I’ll bet you two of the Amherst pheasants to five shillings that she refuses to have me as a partner at the croquet tournament. We’re drawn together, you know.’

This time he won his bet.