ll_, mind you!"

"Don't do that," I said, "unless you mean to leave New York."

"All about _you_, silly!" she said, flushing in spite of her placid
smile.

"Oh," I said, with an air of great relief, "I was sure you could not
contemplate confession!"

She laid her pretty head on one side. "I wonder," she mused, eying me
deliberately--"I wonder what this new insolence of yours might
indicate. Is it rebellion? Has the worm turned?"

"The worm has turned--into a frivolous butterfly," I said gaily.

"I don't believe it," she said. "Let me see if I can make you blush,
Carus!" And she leaned nearer, whispering behind her fan.

"Let me match that!" I said coolly. "Lend me your fan, Rosamund----"

"Carus!" exclaimed Lady Coleville, "stop it! Mercy on us, such
shameless billing and cooing! Captain O'Neil, call him out!"

"Faith," said O'Neil, "to call is wan thing, and the chune Mrs. Barry
sings is another. Take shame, Carus Renault, ye blatherin', bould
inthriguer! L'ave innocence to yer betthers!"

"To me, for example," observed Captain Harkness complacently. "Mrs.
Barry knows that raking fellow, Carus, and she knows you, too, you wild
Irishman----"

"If you only keep this up long enough, gentlemen," I said, striving to
smile, "you'll end by doing what I've so far avoided."

"Ruining his reputation in Miss Grey's eyes," explained Lady Coleville
pleasantly.

Elsin Grey looked calmly across at me, saying to Sir Peter, "He _is_ too
young to do such things, isn't he?"

That set them into fits of laughter, Sir Peter begging me to pause in
my mad career and consider the chief end of man, and Tully O'Neil
generously promising moral advice and the spiritual support of Rosamund
Barry, which immediately diverted attention from me to a lightning duel
of words between Rosamund and O'Neil--parry and thrust, innuendo and
eloquent silence, until Lady Coleville in pantomime knocked up the
crossed blades of wit, and Sir Peter vowed that this was no place for
an innocent married man.

When Lady Coleville rose we drew our swords and arched a way for her,
and she picked up her silken petticoat and ran under, laughing, one
hand pressed to her ears to shut out the cheers.

There were long black Spanish cigars, horribly strong, served with
spirits after the ladies had left. O'Neil and Harkness used them; Sir
Peter and I accepted the long cool pipes, and we settled for a
comfortable smoke.

Sir Peter spoke of the coming cock-figh