"I suppose," said Mrs. Scarsdale to the Consul, as their train drew out of Salisbury in the first flush of the sunrise on the morning which saw Mr. Scarsdale's liberation from durance vile—"I suppose you realise that you have exiled me from the home of my ancestors."
"How so?" asked the Consul.
"Why, you don't imagine that I shall ever dare to show my face at Melton Court again. Just picture to yourself her ladyship and your elephant! She will never forgive us, and will cut poor Harold off with a shilling."
"That won't hurt him much, from all I've heard of her ladyship's finances," he replied.
"I think," she resumed, "that I ought to be very angry with you; but I can't help laughing, it is so absurd. A bull in a china-shop would be tame compared with an elephant at Melton Court. What do you think she will do with the beast?"
"Pasture it on the front lawn to keep away objectionable relatives," retorted the Consul. "But, seriously speaking, have you any definite plan of campaign?"
"Certainly not. What do you suppose I carry you round for, if it is not to plan campaigns?"
"Which you generally alter. You will please remember that the visit to Melton Court was entirely owing to you."
"Quite, and I shall probably upset this one; but proceed."