rald_. Of course, nobody who isn't just a
little clever could play at it.'

'Oh yes!' Geraldine smiled. 'You mean "Characters." I remember you told
me about it.'

And Mrs. Ashton Portway said that she did mean 'Characters.'

In the drawing-room she explained that in playing the game of
'Characters' you chose a subject for discussion, and then each player
secretly thought of a character in fiction, and spoke in the discussion
as he imagined that character would have spoken. At the end of the game
you tried to guess the characters chosen.

'I think it ought to be classical fiction only,' she said.

Sundry guests declined to play, on the ground that they lacked the
needful brilliance. Henry declined utterly, but he had the wit not to
give his reasons. It was he who suggested that the non-players should
form a jury. At last seven players were recruited, including Mr. Ashton
Portway, Miss Marchrose, Geraldine, Mr. Dolbiac, and three others. Mrs.
Ashton Portway sat down by Henry as a jurywoman.

'And now what are you going to discuss?' said she.

No one could find a topic.

'Let us discuss love,' Miss Marchrose ventured.

'Yes,' said Mr. Dolbiac, 'let's. There's nothing like leather.'

So the seven in the centre of the room assumed attitudes suitable for
the discussion of love.

'Have you all chosen your characters?' asked the hostess.

'We have,' replied the seven.

'Then begin.'

'Don't all speak at once,' said Mr. Dolbiac, after a pause.

'Who is that chap?' Henry whispered.

'Mr. Dolbiac? He's a sculptor from Paris. Quite English, I believe,
except for his grandmother. Intensely clever.' Mrs. Ashton Portway
distilled these facts into Henry's ear, and then turned to the silent
seven. 'It _is_ rather difficult, isn't it?' she breathed encouragingly.

'Love is not for such as me,' said Mr. Dolbiac solemnly. Then he looked
at his hostess, and called out in an undertone: 'I've begun.'

'The question,' said Miss Marchrose, clearing her throat, 'is, not what
love is not, but what it is.'

'You must kindly stand up,' said Mr. Dolbiac. 'I can't hear.'

Miss Marchrose glanced at Mrs. Ashton Portway, and Mrs. Ashton Portway
told Mr. Dolbiac that he was on no account to be silly.

Then Mr. Ashton Portway and Geraldine both began to speak at once, and
then insisted on being silent at once, and in the end Mr. Ashton Portway
was induced to say something about Dulcinea.

'He's chosen Don Quixote,' his wife info