out of the difficulty. We'll settle it on them and their children———"
But by this time Madrasia's cheeks were aflame, and she turned on Parslewe with blazing eyes.
"Jimmie!" she exclaimed. "How—how dare you? When will you give up that wicked habit of settling other people's affairs as if—as if they were so many puppets? Why—why—Mr. Craye has never even asked me to marry him!"
Parslewe turned the full force of his grimmest smile on us.
"Well, my dear!" he retorted leisurely. "It's his own fault if he hasn't! I'm sure he's had plenty of opportunity. But———"
Sir Charles rose to the occasion. He rose literally from his chair, bending towards Parslewe; he even allowed himself to indulge in a slight wink at Parslewe.
"My dear sir!" he cooed. "I think—er—if we left our young friends together, my dear sir! A little—er—informal conversation between them—eh?—while you and I—shall we try a glass of the famous Palkeney
