Gertie introduced her cousin with a touch of pride.
"I am trying to think," said Clarence, "where I saw your name to-day."
"Haven't made a name yet," remarked Henry. "Only been at it for about eighteen months. I say! We don't want to go into that enormous crowd. We'll stroll round and see how the penguins are getting on. They sometimes look as though they were thinking of giving me a commission to draw up plans for new Law Courts."
At one of the open windows the two ladies were standing, watching over many heads the high tea that was being served to the impatient animals. The younger one happened to turn as Gertie and her friends went by; she raised her eyebrows.
"Everybody one knows appears to be here," said Henry Douglass. "I wish you had agreed instead to run out with me from Baker Street Station into the country."
"Can't do that yet," she answered definitely. "Not until we know each other a great deal better."
"Your rules of conduct are precise."
"You'll like me all the better later on," said Gertie, "because of that. Always supposing," she continued, "that you do go on liking me."
"So far as I can gather," he remarked good-temperedly, "I am persona grata now at Praed Street."
"I don't know what that means," she said; "but aunt has quite taken to you. Just look at this! Isn't it extr'ordinary?—Clarence," she called over her shoulder to her cousin, "here is most likely where you saw the name this afternoon."