"That she's been married dozens of times already."

"I don't think I can subscribe to more than half a dozen. But Miss Arminster certainly does seem to have a fondness for that sort of thing."

"And in the face of such scandalous proceedings do you consider her a fit person to marry your poor misguided father?"

"I've told you I don't approve," he said, and added: "How did you come to know about Miss Arminster's marriages?"

"Mr. Marchmont told me."

"Confound him!"

"Cecil! Mr. Marchmont's a gentleman."

"He's a mischief-maker of the first water."

"Do not let us waste time in discussing his character. The important question is, what are we to do about your father's marriage?"

"Stop it."

"But how?" she asked. "Shall I speak?"

"No, no; leave it to me," he said. "I'll undertake to settle the matter.

If you saw the Bishop, you'd only irritate him."

"He told me to go to bed, last night, after that woman had insulted me."

"Insulted you? I thought you told me she'd nothing to say for herself."

"Her presence was an insult, and one of us leaves this house to-day,"

replied his aunt, and swept out of the room.

Cecil gulped down his tea, and, ringing the bell, sent an urgent message to Miss Arminster, requesting a meeting in his aunt's boudoir, which, considering the purpose of the interview, he was sure Miss Matilda would not object to put at her disposal.

Violet received him in about twenty minutes, apologising for her charming tea-gown, on the ground of being somewhat seedy.

"Our supper last night was rather extraordinary, you know," she said.

"I've only heard one version," he replied.

"Miss Matilda's?" she asked, laughing.

He nodded.

"I fancy it was lurid enough," she went on; "but your good father's out of leading-strings this time, and no mistake."

"Tell me all about it," he said. "I'm most anxious to know."

"Of course you are," she returned. "So here goes."

Banborough enjoyed the recital immensely, and laughed immoderately at certain pa.s.sages.

"So the governor knows all about our adventures?" he said, when she had finished. "Did he seem much upset?"

"Only about not recognising you when you blacked his eye under the bar."

"What a good old chap he is! Just think of his coming all that way to hunt me up! I wish he could have some fun out of life."

"We must try and help him to do so," she said.

"Yes," he replied, suddenly recollecting the object of his mission.

"It's just that that I've come about. You see he's awfully conscientious, and when he's thought things over a bit, helped by my aunt's amiable suggestions, he'll come to the conclusion that he ought to marry you, you know--and so--well, he'll try to do it," he ended lamely, hoping she would see the point without further elucidation on his part.

She was quick to take him up.

"And you don't think that's just the best way for him to have a good time? Sour grapes--eh, my son?"

"No, no; only he's certain to propose to you."

"Supposing he has done so?"

"Well--did you accept him?"

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I don't quite see how you could--under the circ.u.mstances."

"Oh, he'd only had two bottles of champagne," she said, purposely misunderstanding him from pure joy of seeing him flounder.

"I didn't mean that," he went on. "But, anyway, his conscience will rea.s.sert itself, and he'll probably propose again this morning--ponderously."

"And you're afraid I might accept?"

"I'm sure you'd make a most charming step-mamma," he replied, "only--"

"Only what?"

"Only the--the others might object, mightn't they?"

"The others?"

"All the men you've married," he blurted out, "if you will have it."

"I see," she said meditatively. "And you don't want to run the 'dear Bishop' in for another scandal."

"Of course, if you choose to put it that way--"

"It's the way you'd put it if you only had the pluck," she retorted.