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during his absence.
    First and foremost, he urged, she must use every feminine wile to fascinate his Uncle Clarence.
    'Right,' said Sue. She was a tiny girl, with an enchanting smile and big blue eyes. These last were now sparkling with ready intelligence. She followed his reasoning perfectly. Lord Emsworth, though he had promised Ronnie his money, had not yet given it to him and might conceivably change his mind. Obviously, therefore, he must be fascinated. The task, moreoever, would not be a distasteful one. In the brief time during which she had had the pleasure of his acquaintance, she had grown very fond of that mild and dreamy peer.
    'Right,' she said.
    'Keep surging round him like glue.' 'Right,' said Sue.
    'In fact, I think you had better go and talk pig to him the moment I've left.' 'Right,' said Sue.
    'And about Aunt Constance ...' said Ronnie.
    He paused, frowning. He always frowned when he thought of his aunt, Lady Constance Keeble.
    When Ronald Fish, the Last of the Fishes, only son of Lady Julia Fish, and nephew to Clarence, ninth Earl of Emsworth, had announced that a marriage had been arranged and would shortly take place between himself and a unit of the Regal Theatre chorus, he had had what might be called a mixed Press. Some of the notices were good, others not.
    Beach, the Castle butler, who had fostered for eighteen years a semi-paternal attitude towards Ronnie and had fallen in love with Sue at first sight, liked the idea. So did the Hon. Galahad Threep wood, who when a dashing young man about town in the nineties had wanted to marry Sue's mother. As for Lord Emsworth himself, he had said 'Oh, ah?' in an absent voice on hearing the news and had gone on thinking about pigs.
    It was, as so often happens on these occasions, from the female side of the family that the jarring note had proceeded. Women are seldom without their class prejudices. Their views on the importance of Rank diverge from those of the poet Burns. We have seen how Lady Julia felt about the match. The disapproval of her sister Constance was equally pronounced. She grieved over this blot which was about to be splashed upon the escutcheon of a proud family, and let the world see that she grieved. She sighed a good deal, and when she was not sighing kept her lips tightly pressed together.
    So now when Ronnie mentioned her name, he frowned. 'About Aunt Constance ...'
    He was going on to add that, should his Aunt Constance have the nerve during his absence to put on dog and do any of that haughty County stuff to his betrothed, the latter would be well advised to kick her in the face; when there emerged from the house a young man with marcelled hair, a shifty expression, and a small and repellent moustache. He stood for an instant on the threshold, hesitated, caught Ronnie's eye, smiled weakly, and disappeared again. Ronnie stood gazing tensely at the spot where he had been.
    'Little blighter!' he growled, grinding his teeth gently. The sight of P. Frobisher Pilbeam always tended to wake the fiend that slept in Ronald Fish. 'Looking for you, I suppose!'
    Sue started nervously.
    'Oh, I shouldn't think so. We've hardly spoken for days.' 'He doesn't ever bother you now ?' 'Oh, no.'
    'What's he doing here, anyway? I thought he'd left.' ‘I suppose Lord Emsworth asked him to stay on. What does he matter?'
    'He used to send you flowers!' ‘I know, but ...'
    'He trailed you to that restaurant that night.'
    'I know. But surely you aren't worried about him any longer?'
    'Me?' said Ronnie. 'No! Of course not.'
    He spoke a little gruffly, for he was embarrassed. It is always embarrassing for a young man of sensibility to realize that he is making a priceless ass of himself. He knew perfectly well that there was nothing between Sue and this Pilbeam perisher and never had been anything. And yet the sight of him about the place could make him flush and scowl and get all throaty.
    Of course, the whole trouble with him was that where Sue was concerned he