"Agatha, it is the deuce," said the Proconsul, wrestling with his white tie.
"It is that Woman, I am convinced. Phil-ipp has been led on to this."
"I don't know what Vandeleur will say, I'm sure. And such a supercilious fellow when he gets really cross. Of course, I dissociate myself entirely from a step so subversive."
The Heads certainly received Father somewhat askance that evening. In parenthesis, it may be remarked that the world at large considered S. of P. as being by way of a Head himself. But things are not always what they seem, as Monsieur Bergson said of the Nebular Hypothesis. A Head he was, of course, in ordinary assembly; but this assembly, small though it was, was by no means ordinary.
It was the Hostess, a massive daughter of Caledonia, who first referred to the Vexed Subject, just as Father, with a rather poor appetite, had begun upon his bird.
"Lord Shelmerdine, what is this one hears about your son standing as a Rag?"
No; it was not exactly kind of Caledonia's daughter. The pause was awkward, particularly as Mr. Everard Vandeleur was seated on the right of his hostess.
"I have no need to say that I dissociate myself entirely from this ill-considered action," said S. of P. at length. "Beyond that I say nothing."
