the catch air from a late musical comedy. He turned
to study a bit of Japanese bronze on the mantel behind him, screwing a
single glass into an eye. When he had scanned the bronze with a fine
little air of appreciation he replaced it, resumed his jaunty humming,
and idly picked up a card that had been thrown beside it. Carelessly
under the still fixed monocle he brought the words "Mr. Gilbert Denham
Ewing." A moment he held it so in fingers that suddenly trembled. His
head went sharply back, the glass dropped from his eye, dangling on its
silken ribbon, and his little song died. He glanced about him, observing
the two groups to be still inattentive. Placing a supporting hand on
the mantel he set the glass firmly again and studied the card a second
time. Another glance through the rooms, and he resumed his song,
crumpling the card in his hand. Then, turning, he stood once more before
the fire, his hands comfortably at his back. One of them tossed the card
into the grate, and his song again ceased.

Bartell looked up, having, after incredible finesse, slain and weighed
his giant salmon. Piersoll, recalling that the anecdotist had killed
other salmon in his time, made a hasty adieu and went to his hostess,
who lingered in the drawing room with the younger men. Teevan, before
the fire, breathed in smoke, emitted it from pursed lips, studied the
ash at the end of his cigarette from under raised, speculative brows,
and flashed search-light eyes upon his host.

"Who's the young chap, Chris?"

Bartell took up a liqueur glass and turned to his questioner.

"Name's Ewing, I believe. Some chap Eleanor picked up in the far West.
Painter, I believe, or means to be."

"Painter, yes, to be sure--quite right; painter...." He waited
pointedly.

"Paints cowboys and Indians, I fancy--the usual thing. Seems a decent
sort; rather a gentleman. You're looking a bit off. Randy."

"Am I, though? Queer! Never felt fitter. Walked to Fifty-ninth Street
and back to-day. Might have overdone a bit. That chap staying in town
long?"

"Have to ask Eleanor. It's her affair. By Jove, old boy, you _are_ a
wonder. I wish I could keep it off around here the way you do."

The little man drew himself up, expanded his chest, and bravely
flourished a smile of acknowledgment. This faded into a look of hostile
curiosity, discreetly veiled, as Mrs. Laithe and the two young men came
in from the drawing room.

"Time to be moving on, Governor," young Teeva