"What a rabbit you are, Freddie! Why on earth are you so afraid of
mother?"

Freddie looked at him as a timid young squire might have gazed upon
St. George when the latter set out to do battle with the dragon. He
was of the amiable type which makes heroes of its friends. In the old
days when he had fagged for him at Winchester he had thought Derek
the most wonderful person in the world, and this view he still
retained. Indeed, subsequent events had strengthened it. Derek had
done the most amazing things since leaving school. He had had a
brilliant career at Oxford, and now, in the House of Commons, was
already looked upon by the leaders of his party as one to be watched
and encouraged. He played polo superlatively well, and was a fine
shot. But of all his gifts and qualities the one that extorted
Freddie's admiration in its intensest form was his lion-like courage
as exemplified by his behavior in the present crisis. There he sat,
placidly eating toast and marmalade, while the boat-train containing
Lady Underhill already sped on its way from Dover to London. It was
like Drake playing bowls with the Spanish Armada in sight.

"I wish I had your nerve!" he said, awed. "What I should be feeling,
if I were in your place and had to meet your mater after telling her
that I was engaged to marry a girl she had never seen, I don't know.
I'd rather face a wounded tiger!"

"Idiot!" said Derek placidly.

"Not," pursued Freddie, "that I mean to say anything in the least
derogatory and so forth to your jolly old mater, if you understand
me, but the fact remains she scares me pallid! Always has, ever since