"I shan't be a minute," Nigel promised. "I'm going to change into
flannels after lunch--that is, if you don't mind playing a set or two at
tennis. My cousin-in-law Maggie Trent, whom you'll meet at luncheon, is
rather keen, and she doesn't care about golf."

"I'm game for anything," the other agreed, lifting his head spluttering
from the basin. "Gee, that's good! Get a move on, there's a good fellow.
I have a fancy for just five minutes with you out on the lawn, with the
ice chinking in our glasses."

Nigel finished smoothing his hair, and the two men strolled through the
hall, gave an order to a red-coated attendant, and found a secluded
table under a marvellous tree in the gardens on the other side. Chalmers
had become a little thoughtful.

"Dorminster," he declared, "yours is a wonderful country."

"Just how is it appealing to you at the moment?" Nigel enquired.

"I'll try and tell you," was the meditative reply. "It's your
extraordinary insouciance. It seems to me, as a budding diplomat, that
you are running the most ghastly risks on earth."

"In what direction?"

The young American shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, you've got a thoroughly democratic Government--not such a bad
Government, I should say, as things go. They've bled your _bourgeoisie_