"By the way, Hughie, you are home just in time for a dance—the Hunt Ball."
Hollow groans burst from behind the newspapers.
"Oh, look here!" said Hughie frankly. "I mean—not really?"
"Yes: I promised Nina Fludyer to back her up and bring a 'bus-load of people. Why don't you want to come?"
"Well, for one thing I have only danced twice since I went down from Cambridge. One time was at a Viceregal reception in Calcutta, and the other was in Montmartre—under less formal conditions. I'll tell you what—you and your house-party go to the ball and enjoy yourselves, and your husband and I will keep each other company here—eh?"
Captain Leroy put down his paper and said, "Good scheme!" in the loyal but mournful tones of one who realizes that it is a forlorn hope, but that one might as well have a shot for it. "In fact, dear," he continued desperately, "I was thinkin' of takin' Marrable out that very night to lie out for poachers. Old Gannet was tellin' me that the North Wood—that is—"
He observed his wife's withering eye, and became suddenly interested in the advertisements on the back page of his periodical.
"Jack," said Mrs. Leroy in a tone of finality, "on Tuesday night you put on your best bib and tucker and come with us—that's flat."
"All right, m' dear," replied her husband in a voice which said to Hughie, "I was afraid it wouldn't work, old man!"
"And why don't you want to come, Hughie?" continued Mrs. Leroy, suddenly turning on her guest.