"A protest would have more weight coming from a woman," said Mrs. Futvoye; "and, as a shareholder in the company, I shall feel bound——"
"No, I wouldn't," said Horace; "in fact, you mustn't. For, now I come to think of it, she didn't come from Harrod's, after all, or Whiteley's either."
"Then perhaps you will be good enough to inform us where she did come from?"
"I would if I knew," said Horace; "but I don't."
"What!" cried the Professor, sharply, "do you mean to say you can't account for the existence of a dancing-girl who—in my daughter's presence—kisses your hand and addresses you by endearing epithets?"
"Oriental metaphor!" said Horace. "She was a little overstrung. Of course, if I had had any idea she would make such a scene as that—— Sylvia," he broke off, "you don't doubt me?"
"No, Horace," said Sylvia, simply, "I'm sure you must have some explanation—only I do think it would be better if you gave it."
"If I told you the truth," said Horace, slowly, "you would none of you believe me!"
"Then you admit," put in the Professor, "that hitherto you have not been telling the truth?"
"Not as invariably as I could have wished," Horace confessed.