"Odo!" I give up the attempt to reproduce the cataclysm of scorn which overwhelmed the table. "Odo is quite as bad as you are, if not worse. He knew from the first. He knew when the Illryian Ambassador came in person to the Coach and Horses and fetched her in his car; he knew when she chaffed dear Evelyn so delightfully that night at the Savoy."
"What if he did?" said the undefeated Mrs. Arbuthnot. "He didn't tell me. Did you now, Odo?"
With statesmanlike mien I assured the company that Mrs. Fitz's identity was not disclosed to our household despot until some days after her arrival at Dympsfield House.
"I am obliged to believe you, Odo," said Mrs. Catesby. "But mind I only do so on principle."
Somehow this cryptic statement seemed to minister to the mirth of the table. It was increased when the Younger Son, who evidently had been waiting his opportunity, came into the conversation.
"Odo Arbuthnot, M.P.," said he, "I expect when Dick sees what you have done to his wall he'll sue you. Anyhow I should."
The approval which greeted this sally made it clear that the incident had become historical.
"By royal command," said I; "and what chance do you suppose has a mere private member against the despotic will of the father of his people?"
"A gross outrage. An act of vandalism. Postlewaite says——"
"Postlewaite's an ass."