J. Storer Clouston

“ Lady Custerd started.
"What!" she cried. "You don't mean, Raymes—you can't mean it was you——?"
"My dear Gwendolen, you didn't suppose poor Tony had the sense to send her those flowers himself?"
"But, Raymes," she gasped, "that—that is deceiving the poor girl."
"All's fair in love," he quoted. "Take them!" he added hastily, and thrust the bouquet into her hands.
A young man had just appeared. He was barely twenty, slender and pleasantly good-looking, with a diffidently well-bred manner. Lord Raymes regarded him coldly.
"Well, Lawrence," he inquired, "what are you doing this morning?" ”

“ Lady Custerd opened her eyes.
"I wish you'd express yourself intelligibly, Raymes."
"I mean," he replied, "that he must bag her before she finds him out. No woman who knew poor Tony could ever conceivably marry him. In fact, I told him so. I've just spent the most refreshing half-hour in explaining Anthony to himself. He's got to pop the question before lunch or look for another father. That was my ultimatum."
This was one of the few occasions when Lady Custerd felt sincerely relieved to think that Raymes seldom meant exactly what he said. ”

“ He would meet nice people, see good society, and enjoy the enviable sensation of visiting a famous country house. But somehow or other the poor youth found himself apparently in everybody's way—except Miss Lowndes'. And circumstances seemed to conspire to keep him out of hers.
"That young fellow is getting on my nerves," said Lord Raymes. "What the deuce is one to do with him? He's shy of me and he's too brainy for Tony and Algie; and as to letting him play golf with Dinah, I'm hanged if he's going to! Nature has given Tony quite enough to contend with. ”