A Damsel in Distress

Geoffrey swallowed his piece of cake, and bent forward.

"Aren't you engaged to this man Bevan?"

Maud avoided his eye. She was aware that the crisis had arrived,

and that her whole future hung on her next words.

And then Fate came to her rescue. Before she could speak, there was

an interruption.

"Pardon me," said a voice. "One moment!"

So intent had Maud and her companion been on their own affairs that

neither of them observed the entrance of a third party. This was a

young man with mouse-coloured hair and a freckled, badly-shaven

face which seemed undecided whether to be furtive or impudent. He

had small eyes, and his costume was a blend of the flashy and the

shabby. He wore a bowler hat, tilted a little rakishly to one side,

and carried a small bag, which he rested on the table between them.

"Sorry to intrude, miss." He bowed gallantly to Maud, "but I want

to have a few words with Mr. Spenser Gray here."

Maud, looking across at Geoffrey, was surprised to see that his

florid face had lost much of its colour. His mouth was open, and

his eyes had taken a glassy expression.

"I think you have made a mistake," she said coldly. She disliked

the young man at sight. "This is Mr. Raymond."

Geoffrey found speech.

"Of course I'm Mr. Raymond!" he cried angrily. "What do you mean by

coming and annoying us like this?"

The young man was not discomposed. He appeared to be used to being

unpopular. He proceeded as though there had been no interruption.

He produced a dingy card.

"Glance at that," he said. "Messrs. Willoughby and Son, Solicitors.

I'm son. The guv'nor put this little matter into my hands. I've

been looking for you for days, Mr. Gray, to hand you this paper."

He opened the bag like a conjurer performing a trick, and brought

out a stiff document of legal aspect. "You're a witness, miss, that

I've served the papers. You know what this is, of course?" he said

to Geoffrey. "Action for breach of promise of marriage. Our client,

Miss Yvonne Sinclair, of the Regal Theatre, is suing you for ten

thousand pounds. And, if you ask me," said the young man with

genial candour, dropping the professional manner, "I don't mind

telling you, I think it's a walk-over! It's the best little action

for breach we've handled for years." He became professional again.

"Your lawyers will no doubt communicate with us in due course. And,

if you take my advice," he concluded, with another of his swift

changes of manner, "you'll get 'em to settle out of court, for,

between me and you and the lamp-post, you haven't an earthly!"