than six!"

"No."

"It sounded more."

"Six," said Sir Mallaby firmly. He raised a shapely hand with the
fingers outspread. "Count 'em for yourself." He twiddled his thumb.
"Number one--Bennett."

"Who?" cried Sam.

"Bennett. Rufus Bennett. He's an American over here for the summer.
Haven't I ever mentioned his name to you? He's a great fellow. Always
thinking he's at death's door, but keeps up a fine appetite. I've been
his legal representative in London for years. Then--" Sir Mallaby
twiddled his first finger--"there's his daughter Wilhelmina, who has
just arrived in England." A look of enthusiasm came into Sir Mallaby's
face. "Sam, my boy, I don't intend to say a word about Miss Wilhelmina
Bennett, because I think there's nothing more prejudicial than singing a
person's praises in advance. I merely remark that I fancy you will
appreciate her! I've only met her once, and then only for a few minutes,
but what I say is, if there's a girl living who's likely to make you
forget whatever fool of a woman you may be fancying yourself in love
with at the moment, that girl is Wilhelmina Bennett! The others are
Bennett's friend, Henry Mortimer, also an American--a big lawyer, I
believe, on the other side--and his son Bream. I haven't met either of
them. They ought to be here any moment now." He looked at his watch.
"Ah! I think that was the front door. Yes, I can hear them on the
stairs."

CHAPTER IX

ROUGH WORK AT A DINNER TABLE

Sec. 1

After the first shock of astonishment, Sam Marlowe had listened to his
father's harangue with a growing indignation which, towards the end of
the speech, had assumed proportions of a cold fury. If there is one
thing the which your high-spirited young man resents, it is being the
toy of Fate. He chafes at the idea that Fate had got it all mapped out
for him. Fate, thought Sam, had constructed a cheap, mushy, sentimental,
five-reel film scenario, and without consulting him had had the cool
cheek to cast him for one of the puppets. He seemed to see Fate as a
thin female with a soppy expression and pince-nez, sniffing a little as
she worked the thing out. He could picture her glutinous satisfaction as
she re-read her scenario and gloated over its sure-fire qualities. There
was not a flaw in the construction. It started off splendidly with a
romantic meeting, had 'em guessing half-way through when the hero and
heroine quarrelled and parted--apparently for ever, and now the stag