ter
chance! The fun of the piece is like those trousers--it only comes
down to his knees."

"What I admire most is her voice," said the other inconsequently.
"How is it that French actresses have such beautiful voices? Freedom
from fogs can't be the only cause. And it's got all that delicious
plaintiveness----"

"Yes," interposed Lightmark, "it's the voice of a true Parisian
_femme de siecle, fin de siecle_. There's the bell, let's go and hear
some more of it."

After the second act Lightmark, in whom the influence of the evening
was beginning to manifest itself in the shape of a geniality which
was absent in a great degree from his more serious hours, and which
had undoubtedly won him more friends than the other slightly
pugnacious phase of his temperament, decided that Niniche was really
very like Miss Sylvester, only less beautiful, and asserted that he
was confident that she was younger than the newspapers made out.

Later, before the two friends parted on the steps of the modest
club, which included both in its list of town members, Lightmark
assumed an air of mystery, sighed once or twice, and looked at his
friend with an expression in which forgiveness, reproach, and the
lateness of the hour were strangely commingled.

"Old boy," he said, bending his eyebrows with an effort towards
gravity, "I'm really rather cut up about that business--you thinking
I was playing the gay deceiver, and all that sort of thing, you
know. It was unworthy of you, Philip--it was, really. Dash it! I've
been in love for ever so long. All the summer, seriously; I'm going
to get married--settle down, range myself. Cut all you rips of
bachelors.... But perhaps she won't see it. Oh, Lord!... Damn it
all. Why don't you congratulate me, eh?"

Rainham was growing more and more serious, and it was with a real
heartache and a curious apprehension of a moral blow that he
answered, as gaily as he could:

"You're going a little too fast, Dick. If you haven't asked the
girl, it's rather too early for congratulations, however
irresistible your attractions may be. Who--who is it, Dick?"

"Oh, come, you know well enough. Eve--I wonder if she'll let me call
her Eve? Eve! Isn't it a pretty name?"

"I wish you hadn't told me this, Dick," said the other, with more of
the familiar weariness in his voice. "Are you sure you mean it? I
don't believe you've thought it out. Why, what do you suppose Mrs.
Sylvester will say, and Charles Sylvester?"