"And where were you wounded?" asked Miss Brent conventionally.
"Clean through the buttocks, mum," replied Uncle simply.
Miss Brent flushed and cast a swift glance at Elton, whose face showed no sign. She turned to Uncle and regarded him severely; but he was blissfully unaware of having offended.
"Can't sit down now, mum, without it 'urtin'" added Uncle, interpreting Miss Brent's steady gaze as betokening interest.
"Oh, Goddy! I've been trying to fight my way across to you for hours." The pretty brunette to whom Elton had bowed joined the group. "I've been giving you the glad eye all the afternoon and you merely bow. Well, Uncle, how's the wound?"
Miss Brent gasped. She was unaware that Uncle's wound was the standing joke among all Lady Meyfield's guests.
"Oh! I'm gettin' on, thank you," said Uncle cheerfully. "Mustn't complain."
"Isn't he a darling?" The girl addressed herself to Miss Brent, who merely stared.
"Do you refer to Uncle or to me?" enquired Elton.
"Why both, of course; but—" she paused and, screwing up her piquante little face in thought she added, "but I think Uncle's the darlinger though, don't you?"
Again she challenged Miss Brent.
