"Taste, Wally! Dear Adela is coming, and I have taken such trouble to arrange this."
The Proconsul showed a little perturbation.
"No accounting for taste, I presume. Why a man of his age, rising twenty-eight, should prefer—"
"Wally, it is very wrong, and you must speak to him. It is not kind to dear Adela. Please ring the bell."
The Proconsul rang the bell, and a young and very good-looking footman attended the summons.
"Joseph," said his mistress, "if Mr. Philip has not gone yet, tell him, please, that his father would like to see him."
After a lapse of about five minutes, a young man sauntered into the library. He was a somewhat somber-looking young man in a chocolate-colored suiting.
"Good morning, Philip," said the First Baron.
"Mornin', father," said the heir to the barony.
"Philip," said the First Baron, "your mother tells me that you have declined to accompany her and Adela Rocklaw to the Albert Hall this afternoon to hear Paderewski."
The heir to the barony knitted the intellectual forehead that was his by inheritance.
"Not declined, you know, exactly. It's a bit of a mix. I thought the concert was next Saturday." Mr. Philip was a slow and rather heavy young man, but his air was quite sweet and humble, and not without a sort
