"Well, you know me. I'd give you the shirt off my back."
Lord Shortlands disclaimed any desire for the shirt off his son-in-law's back. What he wanted, he stressed once more, was not haberdashery but two hundred pounds.
"Well, look. Here's the trouble. Adela and I have a joint account."
It was the end. A man cannot go on struggling against Fate beyond a certain point. Lord Shortlands turned and walked to the window, where he gave the moat a look compared with which all previous looks had been loving and appreciative.
"This whole matter of joint accounts for married couples—" he was beginning, speaking warmly, for the subject was one on which he held strong views, when his observations were interrupted. The door had opened again, and his eldest daughter was coming in.
Lady Adela Topping, some fifteen years younger than her husband, was tall and handsome and built rather on the lines of Catherine of Russia, whom she resembled also in force of character and that imperiousness of outlook which makes a woman disinclined to stand any nonsense. And that she had recently been confronted with nonsense of some nature was plainly shown in her demeanour now. She was visibly annoyed; so visibly that if Desborough Topping had not become immersed in the stamp album once more and so missed the tilt of her chin and the flash of her eye, he would have curled up in a ball and rolled under the sofa.
"Do you know a man named Cobbold, Father?" she said. She consulted the buff sheet of paper in her hand. "Ellery Cobbold he signs himself."
Like a bull which, suddenly annoyed by a picador, turns from the matador who had previously engrossed its attention, Lord Shortlands shelved the thought of joint accounts for the time being and puffed belligerently.
"Ellery Cobbold? That fellow in New York? I should say I do. He sours my life."
"But how do you come to be connected with him?"
"He's connected with me. Or says he is. Claims he's a sort of cousin."
"Well, I cannot see that that entitles him to expect us to put his son Stanwood up for an indeterminate visit."
"Does he?"
"That's what he says in his cable. I never heard such impertinence."
"Bally crust," agreed Lord Shortlands, indignant but not surprised. After what had occurred that morning when the stable clock was striking seven, he could scarcely be astonished at any excesses on Mr. Cobbold's part.
Only Terry seemed pleased.
"Is Stanwood Cobbold coming here?" she said. "Splendid."
"Do you know him?"
"We're like ham and eggs."
"Like what?"
"I mean that's how well we get along together. Stanwood's an angel. He saved my life in London."
Down at the table something stirred. It was Desborough Topping coming to the surface.
"Ellery Cobbold?" he said, the name having just penetrated to his stamp-drugged consciousness. "I was in college with Ellery Cobbold. Fat fellow."
"Indeed?"
"Very rich now, I believe."
Lady Adela started.
"Rich?"
"Worth millions, I guess," said Desborough, and dived back into the album.
A change had come over Lady Adela's iron front. Her eyes seemed softer. They had lost their stern anti-Cobbold glare.
"Oh, is he? And you say he's some connection of ours, Father? And his son is friend of yours, Terry? Then of course we must ask him here," said Lady Adela heartily. "Desborough, go and send him a telegram—here's the address—saying that we shall be delighted to put him up. Sign it 'Shortlands.' The cable was addressed to you, Father."
"Was that why you opened it?" asked Lord Shortlands, who had begun to feel ruffled again about that joint account.
"Say that Father will be coming in this afternoon in the car—"
A sigh escaped Lord Shortlands. Permission to go to London, and only two-and-eightpence to spend when he got there. This, he supposed, was the sort of thing Cosmo Blair had been alluding to at dinner last night, when he had spoken of tragic irony.
"—and will bring him back with him. Have you got that clear? Then run along. Oh, and you had better cable Mr. Cobbold, saying how delighted we are. Pistachio, New York. New York is one word."
"Yes, dear. I'll take this album with me. It's quite interesting. I've already found a stamp that's worth several pounds."
"Then Clare must certainly not give the thing to her jumble sale until you have thoroughly examined it," said Lady Adela with decision. She shared her sister's views about not overdoing it when you are aiding indigent villagers.
It seemed to Lord Shortlands that the time had come to get his property rights firmly established. The mention of stamps worth several pounds had stirred him profoundly, and all this loose talk about jumble sales, he felt, must be checked without delay.
"Just a minute, just a minute," he said. "Clare isn't going to have that album. Ridiculous. Absurd."
"What do you mean?"
"Perfect rot. Never heard of such a thing."
"But what has it to do with you?"
"It's my album."
"Nonsense."
"It is, I tell you. I used to collect stamps."
"Years ago."
"Well, the thing's probably been in that cupboard for years. Look at the dust on it. What more likely than that I should have put my album in a cupboard and forgotten all about it?"
"Well, I haven't time to discuss it now. Run along, Desborough."
"Yes, dear."
As the door closed, Lady Adela had another idea.
"It might be a good thing, Father, if you were to start at once. Then you could give Mr. Cobbold lunch."
"What!"
Lady Adela repeated her remark, and Lord Shortlands closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were praying.
"An excellent idea," he said in a hushed voice. "At the Ritz."
"You're behind the times, Shorty," said Terry. "Barribault's is the posh place now."
"Then make it Barribault's," said Lord Shortlands agreeably.
"And you can take Terry with you."
Terry blinked.
"Did you hear what I heard, Shorty?"
"'Take Terry with you' was the way I got it."
"That's what it sounded like to me, too. Do you really mean this, Adela?"
"Make yourself look nice."
"A vision," said Terry, and started off to do so.
She left Lord Shortlands uplifted but bewildered. He was at a loss to account for this sudden spasm of openhandedness in a daughter generally prudent to a fault. He found himself reminded of the Christmas Day activities of the late Scrooge.
"This may be a most fortunate thing that has happened, Father," said Adela. "Terry is a very attractive girl, and apparently she and this Mr. Cobbold are good friends already. And he saved her life, she says. Odd she should not have mentioned that before. I wonder how it happened. It seems to me that, being here together, they might quite easily—"
"Good Lord!" said Lord Shortlands, enlightened. He was also a little shocked. "Don't you women ever think of anything but trying to fix up weddings?"
"Well, it's quite time that Terry got married. It would steady her."
"Terry doesn't need steadying."
"How can you talk like that, Father, after the way she ran off and—"
"Oh, all right, all right. And now," said Lord Shortlands, for he felt that too much time was being wasted on these trivialities, "in the matter of expenses. I shall need quite a bit of working capital."
"Nonsense. Two pounds will be ample."
It is not often that anyone sees an earl in the act of not believing his ears. Lady Adela was privileged to do so now. Lord Shortlands' prominent eyes, so well adapted for staring incredulously, seemed in danger of leaping from their sockets.
"Two pounds?" he cried. "Great heavens! How about cocktails? How about cigars? How about wines, liqueurs and spirits?"