And long since he had learned to name this thing, undismayed--this one thing remaining in the world in which his father's son might take a sporting interest.
* * * * * He had been in New York two weeks, enjoying existence in his own fashion, untroubled by any demands, questions, or scruples concerning responsibility, when a passionate letter from Portlaw disturbed the placid interlude: "Confound it, Louis, haven't you the common decency to come back when you know I've had a bunch of people here to be entertained?
"Nobody's heard a peep from you.

What on earth do you mean by this?
"Miss Palliser, Mrs.Ascott, Miss Cardross are here, also Wayward, and Gray Cardross--which with you and Mrs.Malcourt and myself solves the Bridge proposition--or would have solved it.
But without warning, yesterday, your sister and brother-in-law arrived, bag and baggage, and Mrs.Malcourt has given them the west wing of your house.

I believe she was as astonished as I, but she will not admit it.
"I don't know whether this is some sorry jest of yours--not that Lady Tressilvain and her noble spouse are unwelcome--but for Heaven's sake consider Wayward's feelings--cooped up in camp with his ex-wife! It wasn't a very funny thing to do, Louis; but now that it's done you can come back and take care of the mess you've made.
"As for Mrs.Malcourt, she is not merely a trump, she is a hundred aces and a grand slam in a redoubled Without!--if that's possible.

But Mrs.Ascott is my pillar of support in what might easily become a fool of a situation.
"And you, you amateur idiot!--are down there in town, humorously awaiting the shriek of anguish from me.

Well, you've heard me.
But it's not a senseless shriek; it's a dignified protest.