"Not at all," Pendleton answered. "I'm in the hands of my hostess."
"Which is exceedingly polite but means nothing," Cameron explained.
"It was meant to mean nothing," Devereux interrupted.
"Was it, Montague?" Gladys asked.
"It was meant to mean whatever you wish," said Pendleton. "Whatever is agreeable to you is my desire. If you wish Porshinger what have we to say or to do—except to be agreeable?"
"Oh, certainly—Miss Chamberlain knows that we'll be agreeable!" Devereux exclaimed—"also that we do object to Porshinger. What is the use of spoiling a particularly congenial crowd by having a bounder run in on us?—However—orders are orders. We'll turn out the guard to receive him and do him full reverence for your dear sake, Gladys." He tossed his cigarette away and arose, "Miss Emerson, I have the honor to ask you to go for a stroll—wilt come, sweetheart, wilt come?"
"Coming, dearest, coming!" laughed Marcia. "Tarry only until I get a sunshade."
"At the foot of the steps, I will await you. Haste, little one, haste, I pray."
"You will be back for luncheon, I presume?" Gladys called after them, as they went down the walk.