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      Lady Mereston.

      My dear Paradine, Charlie's head over ears in love.

      Fouldes.

      It's not altogether an unexpected condition for a young man of twenty-two. If the lady's respectable, marry him and resign yourself to being a dowager. If she's not, give her five hundred pounds and pack her off to Paris or London or wherever else she habitually practises her arts and graces.

      Lady Mereston.

      I wish I could. But who d'you think it is?

      Fouldes.

      My dear, there's nothing I detest more than riddles. I can imagine quite a number of fair ladies who would look without disdain upon a young marquess with fifty thousand a year.

      Lady Mereston.

      Lady Frederick Berolles.

      Fouldes.

      By Jupiter!

      Lady Mereston.

      She's fifteen years older than he is.

      Fouldes.

      Then she's not old enough to be his mother, which is a distinct advantage.

      Lady Mereston.

      She dyes her hair.

      Fouldes.

      She dyes it uncommonly well.

      Lady Mereston.

      She paints.

      Fouldes.

      Much better than a Royal Academician.

      Lady Mereston.

      And poor Charlie's simply infatuated. He rides with her all the morning, motors with her all the afternoon, and gambles with her half the night. I never see him.

      Fouldes.

      But why should you think Lady Frederick cares two straws for him?

      Lady Mereston.

      Don't be ridiculous, Paradine. Every one knows she hasn't a penny, and she's crippled with debts.

      Fouldes.

      One has to keep up appearances in this world. Life nowadays for the woman of fashion is a dilemma of which one horn is the Bankruptcy Court and the other—dear Sir Francis Jeune.

      Lady Mereston.

      I wish I knew how she manages to dress so beautifully. It's one of the injustices of fate that clothes only hang on a woman really well when she's lost every shred of reputation.

      Fouldes.

      My dear, you must console yourself with the thought that she'll probably frizzle for it hereafter.

      Lady Mereston.

      I hope I'm not wicked, Paradine, but to wear draperies and wings in the next world offers me no compensation for looking dowdy in a Paquin gown in this.

      Fouldes.

      I surmised she was on the verge of bankruptcy when I heard she'd bought a new motor. And you seriously think Charlie wants to marry her?

      Lady Mereston.

      I'm sure of it.

      Fouldes.

      And what d'you want me to do?

      Lady Mereston.

      Good heavens, I want you to prevent it. After all he has a magnificent position; he's got every chance of making a career for himself. There's no reason why he shouldn't be Prime Minister—it's not fair to the boy to let him marry a woman like that.

      Fouldes.

      Of course you know Lady Frederick?

      Lady Mereston.

      My dear Paradine, we're the greatest friends. You don't suppose I'm going to give her the advantage of quarrelling with me. I think I shall ask her to luncheon to meet you.

      Fouldes.

      Women have such an advantage over men in affairs of this sort. They're troubled by no scruples, and, like George Washington, never hesitate to lie.

      Lady Mereston.

      I look upon her as an abandoned creature, and I tell you frankly I shall stop at nothing to save my son from her clutches.

      Fouldes.

      Only a thoroughly good woman could so calmly announce her intention of using the crookedest ways to gain her ends.

      Lady Mereston.

      [Looking at him.] There must be some incident in her career which she wouldn't like raked up. If we could only get hold of that....

      Fouldes.

      [Blandly.] How d'you imagine I can help you?

      Lady Mereston.

      A reformed burglar is always the best detective.

      Fouldes.

      My dear, I wish you could be frank without being sententious.

      Lady Mereston.

      You've run through two fortunes, and if we all got our deserts you would be starving now instead of being richer than ever.

      Fouldes.

      My second cousins have a knack of dying at the psychological moment.

      Lady Mereston.

      You've been a horrid, dissipated wretch all your life, and heaven knows the disreputable people who've been your bosom friends.

      Fouldes.

      With my knowledge of the world and your entire lack of scruple we should certainly be a match for one defenceless woman.

      Lady Mereston.

      [Looking at him sharply.] Common report says that at one time you were very much in love with her.

      Fouldes.

      Common report is an ass whose long ears only catch its own braying.

      Lady Mereston.

      I was wondering how far things went. If you could tell Charlie of the relations between you....

      Fouldes.

      My good Maud, there were no relations—unfortunately.

      Lady Mereston.

      Poor George was very uneasy about you at the time.

      Fouldes.

      Your deceased husband, being a strictly religious man, made a point of believing the worst about his neighbours.

      Lady Mereston.

      Don't, Paradine; I know you didn't like one another, but remember that I loved him with all my heart. I shall never get over his death.

      Fouldes.

      My dear girl, you know I didn't mean to wound you.

      Lady Mereston.

      After all, it was largely your fault. He was deeply religious, and as the president of the Broad Church Union he couldn't countenance your mode of life.

      Fouldes.

      [With great unction.] Thank God in my day I've been a miserable sinner!

      Lady Mereston.

      [Laughing.] You're quite incurable, Paradine. But you will help me now. Since his father's death, the boy and I have lived a very retired life, and now we're quite helpless. It would break my heart if Charlie married that woman.

      Fouldes.

      I'll do my best. I think I can promise you that nothing will come of it.

      [The door is flung open, and Lady Frederick enters, followed by Mereston, a young boyish man of twenty-two;

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