"I have just done something so interesting, Crow," she told him, as they went along towards Regent's Park, to which sylvan spot she had directed her chauffeur, to be more free to talk in peace to her companion. Some of her friends were capable of making scandals, even about the dear old Crow, she knew.
"And what have you done?" he asked.
"Of course you have heard the tale from Uncle Evermond, of Hector and the lady at Monte Carlo?"
He nodded.
"Well, there is not a word of truth in it; he is in love, though, with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life—and I have just been to call upon her. And to-morrow you have got to come to lunch to meet her—and tell me what you think."
"Very well," said the Crow. "I was feeding elsewhere, but I always obey you. Continue your narrative."
"I want you to tell me what to do, and how I can help them."
"My dear child," said the Crow, sententiously, as was his habit, "help them to what? She is married, of course, or Hector would not be in love with her. Do you want to help them to part or to meet? or to go to heaven or to hell? or to spend what Monica Ellerwood calls 'a Saturday to Monday amid rural scenery,' which means both of those things one after the other!"