bore his name, he assured himself for the fortieth time since leaving
England that life bored him to tears. He had sounded its joys and its
sorrows, he had exhausted its thrills; it was like a scenic railway
over which he was compelled to ride after every detail had become
monotonously familiar. There was nothing more for him to learn about
life, nothing more for him to feel. At least that is what the Honorable
Percival thought. But when one reckons too confidently on having
exhausted the varieties of human experience, one is apt to get a jolt.

Carefully selecting a cigarette from a gold case, he struck a light,
and, after a whiff or two, lay back and, closing his eyes on the stir
and confusion, gave himself up to painful reflections. His shrunken
self-esteem, like a feathered thing exposed to wet weather, was
clamoring for a sunny spot in which to expand to natural proportions.
Had he been able to remain at home, the unending chorus of feminine
praise would soon have dried his draggled feathers and left him preening
himself contentedly in the comforting assurance that Lady Hortense was
in no way worthy of him. But being confronted thus suddenly with the
necessity of supplying his egotism with all its nourishment, he found
himself unequal to the task. Behind every consoling thought stalked that
totally incredible "No." He tortured his brain for possible reasons for
Hortense's deflection, but could find none. Detail by detail he reviewed
their acquaintance from the first time he had bowed over her fingers,
in Lord Carlton's hunting-lodge, to the moment he had touched his lips
to the same fingers in formal farewell on the terrace at Hascombe Hall.
It had been such a well-bred courtship from the start, so thoroughly
approved by both sides, so perfectly conducted throughout!

Then, following suddenly on this smooth course of events, came a series
of bumps that made Percival wince as he recalled them: protests,