Her father knew she was right. They must make the best of it. "Put dinner on in twenty minutes," he whispered to her in an aside; then aloud to his guest, "What ... ah ... what shall we ... to put it plainly, Mr. Collop, what shall we say you are?"
"Ah, I've got that all fixed," said Mr. Collop, his voice bravely riding the air. "Old Brailton told me what he was and I'm that. I'm a diplomat, I am. Tokio the last four years."
The call on Marjorie's intelligence woke her to action.
"It won't do," she said sharply.
"Why not? Eh?" said Mr. Collop, with less ceremony than might have been expected from so recent an acquaintance.
"Because," replied the young lady, a little acidly, "one of our guests, Miss Victoria Mosel, has just come back from Japan. She was there in September staying with our Ambassadress at Tokio."
"Ah!" said Mr. Collop. "That makes it awkward like."
"I think," began the Home Secretary timidly ... but the stronger will prevailed.
"Make it Bogotar?" was Mr. Collop's suggestion.
Time, which destroys love itself, and brings mighty states to ruin, the implacable master of ephemeral man, caught the unfortunate father and daughter in his iron grip. There was not a moment to spare. And it was as Mr. Collop, just back from his long but patriotic exile in "Bogotar," that the welcome stranger was led out and ritually introduced to the guests in the next room. There is no need to introduce a guest at such an hour, but this guest! Oh, yes!