"What's she like, father? Topping?"
"Richard, she gave me tea," said the old man, dwelling insistently upon his repetition.
"So you said, sir, and it was most kind of her to be sure. But that fact won't help me to form even the vaguest picture of her looks."
"But it will, Richard," Mr. Hazlewood protested with a nervousness which set Dick wondering again. "She gave me tea. Therefore, don't you see, I must return the hospitality, which I do with the utmost eagerness. Richard, I look to you to help me. We must champion that slandered lady. You will see her for yourself. She is coming here to luncheon."
The truth was out at last. Yet Dick was aware that he might very easily have guessed it. This was just the quixotic line his father could have been foreseen to take.
"Well, we must just keep our eyes open and see that she doesn't slip anything into the decanters while our heads are turned," said Dick with a chuckle. Old Mr. Hazlewood laid a hand upon his son's shoulder.
"That's the sort of thing they say. Only you don't mean it, Richard, and they do," he remarked with a mild and reproachful shake of the head. "Ah, some day, my boy, your better nature will awaken."
Dick expressed no anxiety for the quick advent of that day.
"How many are there of us to be at luncheon?" asked Dick.
"Only the two of us."