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“By the way,” said Concha nonchalantly, “I’ve asked Eben to lunch on Sunday.”

The Doña bowed ironically and Concha blushed, and calling ’Snice got up and moved majestically towards the house.

“Arnold’s coming on Saturday, Jollypot,” said the Doña, triumphantly.

“The dear fellow! That is jolly,” said Jollypot; then sharply drew in her breath, as if suddenly remembering something, and, with a worried expression, hurried away.

The thing she had suddenly remembered was that the billiard-table was at that moment strewn with rose petals drying upon blotting-paper, and that Arnold would be furious if they were not removed before his arrival.

The Doña, by means of a quizzical look at Teresa, commented upon the last quarter of an hour, but Teresa’s expression was not responsive.

“Well,” said the Doña, regretfully hoisting her bulk from her basket-chair, “I must go and catch Rudge before he goes home and tell him to keep the sweet corn for Saturday—Arnold’s so fond of it. And there’s the border to be—oh, your father and his golf!”