hat he thought me to be?
Very well, he had only social ambitions then. I think that's all he
has now. You see what he got with his Red Eagle," nodding calmly
toward Mrs. Gerhardt, who now was being convoyed out by the monocled
martyr in the "stiff shirt."

The others passed out informally; Lee had slipped her arm around
Dulcie. As Garry and Thessalie turned to follow, he said in a low
voice:

"You feel quite secure, then, Thessa?"

She halted, put her lips close to his ear, unnoticed by those ahead:

"Perfectly. The Gerhardts are what you call fatheads--easily used by
anybody, dangerous to no one, governed by greed alone, without a
knowledge of any honour except the German sort. But that Irish dreamer
over there, _he_ is dangerous! That type always is. He menaces the
success of any enterprise to which his quixotic mind turns, because it
instantly becomes a fixed idea with him--an obsession, a monomania!"

She took his arm and walked on beside him.

"I know that fascinating, hot-headed, lovable type of mystic
visionary," she said, "handsome, romantic, illogical, governed
entirely by emotion, not fickle yet never to be depended on; not
faithless, but absolutely irresponsible and utterly ignorant of
fear!... My father was that sort. _Not_ the hunting cheetah Cyril and
Ferez pretended. And it was in _defence_ of a woman that my father
died.... Thank God!"

"Who told you?"

"Captain Renoux--the other night."

"I'm so glad, Thessa!"

She held her flushed head high and smiled at him.

"You see," she said, "after all it is in my blood to be decent."

* * * * *

The Gerhardts, racially vulgar and socially blunt--for the inherent
vulgarity of the Teutonic peoples is an axiom among the civilised--made
themselves characteristically conspicuous at the flower-laden table;
but it was on Murtagh Skeel that all eyes became ultimately focused to
the limit of good-breeding. He was the lode-star--he was the magnet,
the vanishing point for all curiosity, all surmises, all interest.

Perfect breeding, perfect unconsciousness of self, were his minted
marks to guarantee the fineness of his metal. He was natural without
effort, winning in voice, in manner, in grace of mind and body, this
fascinating Irishman of letters--a charming listener, a persuasive
speaker, modest, light hearted, delightfully deferential.

Seated on the right of Mrs. Barres, his smiling hostess very quickly
understood the