Harold Jupp, of the inquiring mind, still stood looking down on Lady Splay without any softening of his face.
"What for?" he asked.
Lady Splay groaned in despair.
"Oh, I was sure you were going to ask that. You are so unpleasant." She put her hand to her forehead. "But I know quite well. Yes, I do." Her face suddenly cleared. "He is a conversationalist—that's it—a great conversationalist. He is the sort of man," she spoke as one repeating a lesson, "who would have been welcome at the breakfast table of Mr. Rogers."
"Rogers?" Harold Jupp asked sternly. "I don't know him."
"And probably never will, Harold, I am sorry to say," said Lady Splay triumphantly. "Mr. Rogers was in heaven many years ago." She suddenly changed her note and began to implore. "Oh, do be pleasant, you and Dennis!"
Harold Jupp's mouth began to twitch, but he composed it again, with an effort, to the stern lines befitting the occasion.
"I'll tell you what I think, Lady Splay," said he, pronouncing judgment. "Your new guest's a Plater."
The dreadful expected word was spoken. Lady Splay broke into appeals, denials, threats. "Oh, he isn't, he isn't!" She turned to her husband. "Chichester, exert your authority! He's not a Plater really. He's not right down the course. And even if he were, they've got to be polite to him."
Sir Chichester, however, was the last man who could be lured into the expression of a definite opinion.