A Damsel in Distress

"Good God, boy, can't you answer a simple question with a plain

affirmative? What do you mean--quite? If somebody came to me and

pointed you out and said, 'Is that your son?' do you suppose I

should say 'Quite?' I wish the devil you didn't collect prayer

rugs. It's sapped your brain."

"They say prison life often weakens the intellect, father," said

Maud. She moved towards the door and turned the handle. Albert,

the page boy, who had been courting earache by listening at the

keyhole, straightened his small body and scuttled away. "Well, is

that all, Aunt Caroline? May I go now?"

"Certainly. I have said all I wished to say."

"Very well. I'm sorry to disobey you, but I can't help it."

"You'll find you can help it after you've been cooped up here for a

few more months," said Percy.

A gentle smile played over Maud's face.

"Love laughs at locksmiths," she murmured softly, and passed from

the room.

"What did she say?" asked Lord Marshmoreton, interested.

"Something about somebody laughing at a locksmith? I don't

understand. Why should anyone laugh at locksmiths? Most respectable

men. Had one up here only the day before yesterday, forcing open

the drawer of my desk. Watched him do it. Most interesting. He

smelt rather strongly of a damned bad brand of tobacco. Fellow must

have a throat of leather to be able to smoke the stuff. But he

didn't strike me as an object of derision. From first to last, I

was never tempted to laugh once."

Lord Belpher wandered moodily to the window and looked out into the

gathering darkness.

"And this has to happen," he said bitterly, "on the eve of my

twenty-first birthday."