When Mr. Brumley found himself fairly launched upon this expedition he had the grace to feel compunction. The Harmans, he perceived, had inadvertently made him the confidant of their domestic discords¹ and to betray them to these others savoured after all of treachery. And besides much as he had craved² to see Lady Harman again, he now realized he didn't in the least want to see her in association with the exuberant³ volubility of Lady Beach-Mandarin and the hard professional observation, so remarkably⁴ like the ferrule of an umbrella being poked⁵ with a noiseless persistence⁶ into one's eye, of Miss Sharsper. And as he thought these afterthoughts Lady Beach-Mandarin's chauffeur⁷ darted⁸ and dodged⁹ and threaded his way with an alacrity¹⁰ that was almost distressing¹¹ to Putney.  
They ran over the ghost of Swinburne, at the foot of Putney Hill,—or perhaps it was only the rhythm of the engine changed for a moment, and in a couple of minutes more they were outside the Harman residence. "Here we are!" said Lady Beach-Mandarin, more capaciously gaminesque than ever. "We've done it now."
 
Mr. Brumley had an impression of a big house in the distended¹² stately-homes-of-England style and very necessarily and abundantly covered by creepers and then he was assisting the ladies to descend¹³ and the three of them were waiting clustered in the ample Victorian doorway¹⁴. For some little interval¹⁵ there came no answer to the bell Mr. Brumley had rung, but all three of them had a sense of hurried, furtive¹⁶ and noiseless readjustments in progress behind the big and bossy¹⁷ oak door. Then it opened and a very large egg-shaped butler with sandy whiskers appeared and looked down himself at them. There was something paternal¹⁸ about this man, his professional deference¹⁹ was touched by the sense of ultimate responsibility. He seemed to consider for a moment whether he should permit Lady Harman to be in, before he conceded that she was.
 
They were ushered²⁰ through a hall that resembled most of the halls in the world, it was dominated by a handsome oak staircase and scarcely gave Miss Sharsper a point, and then across a creation of the Victorian architect, a massive kind of conservatory²¹ with classical touches—there was an impluvium in the centre and there were arches hung with manifestly costly²² Syrian rugs, into a large apartment looking through four French windows upon a verandah and a large floriferous garden. At a sideways glance it seemed a very pleasant garden indeed. The room itself was like the rooms of so many prosperous people nowadays; it had an effect of being sedulously²³ and yet irrelevantly²⁴ over-furnished. It had none of the large vulgarity that Mr. Brumley would have considered proper to a wealthy caterer²⁵, but it confessed a compilation²⁶ of "pieces" very carefully authenticated²⁷. Some of them were rather splendid "pieces"; three big bureaus burly and brassy dominated it; there was a Queen Anne cabinet, some exquisite²⁸ coloured engravings, an ormolu mirror and a couple of large French vases that set Miss Sharsper, who had a keen eye for this traffic, confusedly cataloguing. And a little incongruously in the midst of this exhibit, stood Lady Harman, as if she was trying to conceal²⁹ the fact that she too was a visitor, in a creamy white dress and dark and defensive³⁰ and yet entirely³¹ unabashed.
 
The great butler gave his large vague impression of Lady Beach-Mandarin's name, and stood aside and withdrew.
 
"I've heard so much of you," said Lady Beach-Mandarin advancing with hand upraised. "I had to call. Mr. Brumley——"
 
"Lady Beach-Mandarin met Sir Isaac at Black Strand," Mr. Brumley intervened to explain.
 
Miss Sharsper was as it were introduced by default.
 
"My vividest anticipations³² outdone," said Lady Beach-Mandarin, squeezing Lady Harman's fingers with enthusiasm. "And what a charming garden you have, and what a delightful³³ situation! Such air! And on the very verge³⁴ of London, high, on this delightful literary hill, and ready at any moment to swoop³⁵ in that enviable great car of yours. I suppose you come a great deal into London, Lady Harman?"
 
"No," reflected Lady Harman, "not very much." She seemed to weigh the accuracy of this very carefully. "No," she added in confirmation³⁶.
 
"But you should, you ought to; it's your duty. You've no right to hide away from us. I was telling Sir Isaac. We look to him, we look to you. You've no right to bury your talents away from us; you who are rich and young and brilliant and beautiful——"
 
"But if I go on I shall begin to flatter you," said Lady Beach-Mandarin with a delicious smile. "I've begun upon Sir Isaac already. I've made him promise a hundred guineas and his name to the Shakespear Dinners Society,—nothing he didn't mention eaten (you know) and all the profits to the National movement—and I want your name too. I know you'll let us have your name too. Grant me that, and I'll subside³⁷ into the ordinariest of callers."
 
"But surely; isn't his name enough?" asked Lady Harman.
 
"Without yours, it's only half a name!" cried Lady Beach-Mandarin. "If it were a business thing——! Different of course. But on my list, I'm like dear old Queen Victoria you know, the wives must come too."
 
"In that case," hesitated Lady Harman.... "But really I think Sir Isaac——"
 
She stopped. And then Mr. Brumley had a psychic............