"He was late. He met us, packed in a miserable hack. Hereafter I must insist upon strict compliance with my wishes. Do not assume things, please. Am I quite clear? Thank you." Mrs. Wellington turned from him and pressed still another button. In a moment the tutor of her two sons, Ronald, sixteen years old, and Royal, twelve, stood before her. He was a Frenchman, whose facial expression did not indicate that his duties had fallen in the pleasantest of places.
"Good-morning, M. Dumois. Where are my sons?" She spoke in French.
"They attended a party at Bailey's Beach and remained the night with Master Van Antwerp."
"How have they been?"
"Very well, thank you, except—"
"Except?"
"I found Master Ronald smoking a cigarette in the smoking-room yesterday."
Mrs. Wellington dashed a note on her pad.
"Thank you," she said in her soft tone of dismissal.
"Lest Miss Wellington forget, you might, on your way, remind her, in my name, not to meet Prince Koltsoff until I receive him at luncheon."