ng, served to make him, temporarily at least, part of it.
Molly Wolcott's coolness quite deserted her, and with characteristic
animation she turned her attention to this curious-looking individual
who had the audacity to make bad jokes.

Nor was it a temporary interest. With increasing frequency she laughed
aloud. The man on her right joined her. Judith was amazed. She studied
Good constantly, not overlooking the fact that his cocktail was
untasted. She strained her ears to catch something of what he was
saying, but his voice was low, and he seemed to be talking to Molly
almost confidentially. Finally, at a particularly uproarious bit of
hilarity, she gave way to her curiosity.

"What on earth are you talking about?" she demanded, when a lull in the
conversation enabled her to be heard.

"Oh," he said, "I was just telling Miss Wolcott about a ball game I
pitched in the Philippines. We were playing the 17th Infantry and they
got me full of _nepal_. I did some curious things," he added
reflectively.

"Were you ever in the army?" she asked in amazement.

"Seven years," he answered. "Enough to be a corporal."

Then he turned back to Molly, and Judith was silent. Would she ever get
to the end of his life and the things into which it had led him? She
wanted to ask him more, but he was too obviously engrossed in his
companion, and as the duties of her own position required attention, she
had no further conversation with him.

But as the meal progressed, and the sherry followed the cocktails, and
the claret followed the sherry, and the champagne followed the claret,
the conversation began to centre more and more around Good. It became
almost a monologue, as he talked and they listened.

Judith was mostly silent, in sheer amazement, although occasionally she
could not resist a smile at his drolleries. And when he told stories,
she laughed with the rest. He possessed a remarkable faculty for
imitation, and the characters in his stories required no "he said" to
identify them. His voice and manner changed for each one.

Once, in a pause, she interrupted him.

"You ought to be on the stage," she cried admiringly.

"Never again," he said shortly, leaving her once more in dumfounded
silence.

Never had she sensed this social side to her strange guest. Her interest
in him had been primarily intellectual. He had seemed all serious. She
had never forgotten the guise in which he had first appeared to her. But
this was so ut