No gendleman would gats into der grill-room bring. Der gendleman—"     

       The young man meanwhile was making enticing sounds, to which the cat was maintaining an attitude of reserved hostility. He turned furiously on the head-waiter.     

       "For goodness' sake," he cried, "can't you see the poor brute's scared stiff? Why don't you clear your gang of German comedians away, and give her a chance to come down?"     

       "Der gendleman—" argued the head-waiter.     

       Psmith stepped forward and touched him on the arm.     

       "May I have a word with you in private?"     

       "Zo?"     

       Psmith drew him away.     

       "You don't know who that is?" he whispered, nodding towards the young man.     

       "No gendleman he is," asserted the head-waiter. "Der gendleman would not der gat into—"     

       Psmith shook his head pityingly.     

       "These petty matters of etiquette are not for his Grace—but, hush, he wishes to preserve his incognito."     

       "Ingognito?"     

       "You understand. You are a man of the world, Comrade—may I call you Freddie? You understand, Comrade Freddie, that in a man in his Grace's position a few little eccentricities may be pardoned. You follow me, Frederick?"     

       The head-waiter's eye rested upon the young man with a new interest and respect.     

       "He is noble?" he inquired with awe.     

       "He is here strictly incognito, you understand," said Psmith warningly. The head-waiter nodded.     

       The young man meanwhile had broken down the cat's reserve, and was now standing with her in his arms, apparently anxious to fight all-comers in her defence. The head-waiter 

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