The International
me," he went on persuasively, turning in ardent appeal from one to the other. "I don't think you've ever quite understood me, but as far as you go, you've stood by me. And Drusie's as good as gold. There's no doubt about her heart. I thought I should like to do you a good turn for once."
I gazed at Drusilla, now weakly giggling with her face hidden in Matthew Arnold's white frills, and then, quite speechless, I met Georgie's anxious blue eyes.
"Can't you see the thing as it stands?" he murmured. "When you come to think of it, Martin, it would be a pretty big thing to have the bringing up and training of an international, wouldn't it?"
"It would, indeed," said I firmly; "much too great an honor for me. Far too big a thing."
"Certainly"—Georgie rather missed my point—"you aren't much of a sportsman, but you might influence him in other ways, don't you think? Manners, and
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