Anything that Mrs. Heasant had previously done in the way of outcry was easily surpassed as she raced upstairs and beat frantically at her son’s door.

“Miserable boy, what have you done to Dagmar?”

“It’s Dagmar now, is it?” he snapped; “it will be Geraldine next.”

“That it should come to this, after all my efforts to keep you at home of an evening,” sobbed Mrs. Heasant; “it’s no use you trying to hide things from me; Clotilde’s letter betrays everything.”

“Does it betray who she is?” asked Bertie; “I’ve heard so much about her, I should like to know something about her home-life. Seriously, if you go on like this I shall fetch a doctor; I’ve often enough been preached at about nothing, but I’ve never had an imaginary harem dragged into the discussion.”