"So you see, Mr. Lite can hardly be blamed after all," said Mr. Rodney cheerfully to Mrs. Verulam.
"Perhaps not," she said, a little doubtfully. "However, he should be more careful how he looks at people."
And then she rather hastily dropped the subject. In her secret heart she was sorry to find that the Emperor was not so given to murder as Mr. Bush had led her to suppose. Women love their heroes to stand uprightly even in moments of imminent danger. They infinitely prefer them not to quail before a telescope, however suddenly handled.
Mrs. Verulam could not entirely banish from her heart the uneasy conviction that on this occasion Mr. Bush had scarcely lived up to what she confidently expected of the man who was her idea of Agag.
MR. RODNEY SCREAMS.
That evening in the hall after dinner the Duke chanced to say:
"Another top-hat Ascot! I wish the Prince would set the fashion of billycocks. What do you say, Mr. Bush? Wouldn't you rather have a low hat in the heat? Anything low is always so pleasant—between you and me. Eh? What—what?"
The paragon observed the grinning pantaloon face solemnly, and then answered: