I shook my head.
"Mrs. Bundercombe," I said, leaning over the table, "your husband during his stay in London plunged freely into the Bohemian life of our city. I will answer for it that he did so simply in pursuance of that hobby of which we all know. I am convinced——"
"Paul," Mrs. Bundercombe interrupted, her voice if possible a little more nasal even than usual, "will you fetch Mr. Bundercombe here, or must I rise from my seat in a public place and remove him myself from—from that hussy?"
I appealed to Eve.
"Eve," I begged, "please reason with your stepmother. There are certain situations in life that can be faced in one way only. Mrs. Bundercombe will no doubt have a few words to say to her husband on his return. Let her keep them until then."
"Paul is right!" Eve declared. "Do take our advice!" she continued, turning to her stepmother. "Let us eat our luncheon quite calmly. I am perfectly certain dad will have some very good reason to give for his presence here with that young lady."
Mrs. Bundercombe rose to her feet. I hastened to follow her example. We stood confronting one another.
"It is either you or I, Paul!" she insisted.
"Then it had better be myself," I groaned.
I deposited my napkin on the table and made my way toward Mr. Bundercombe.
I smiled pleasantly at him and bowed apologetically toward his companion.