d a
maitre d'hotel who was lingering near. The latter hesitated for a
moment, and then nodded. It was a noisy party and none too reputable,
but a magnum of champagne was an order. They were likely to make more
noise still if they didn't get it. So the wine was brought, and more
toasts were drunk. Mademoiselle Rosine's eyes flashed softer things
than ever across the table, but she had the disadvantage of distance.
Ella Merriam, the latest American importation, held the place of honour
next Macheson, and she was now endeavouring to possess herself of his
hand under the table.

"I say, Macheson, how is it none of us ever ran up against you before?"
young Davenant demanded, leaning back in his chair. "Never set eyes on
you myself, from the day you left Magdalen till I ran up against you at
the Alhambra the other evening. Awfully studious chap Macheson was at
college," he added to the American girl. "Thought us chaps no end of
rotters because we used to go the pace a bit. That's so, isn't it,
Macheson?"

Macheson nodded.

"It is only the young who are really wise," he declared coolly. "As we
grow older we make fools of ourselves inevitably, either fools or
beasts, according to our proclivities. Then we begin to enjoy
ourselves."

The girl by his side laughed.

"I guess you don't mean that," she said. "It sounds smart, but it's real
horrid. How old are you, Mr. Macheson?"

"Older than I look and younger than I feel," he answered, gazing into
his empty glass.

"Have you found what you call your proclivities?" she asked.

"I am searching for them," Macheson answered. "The trouble is one
doesn't know whether to dig or to climb."

"Why should one search at all?" the other man asked, drawing out a gold
cigarette case from his trousers pocket, and carefully selecting a
cigarette. "Life comes easiest to those who go blindfold. I've got a
brother, private secretary to a Member of Parliament. He's got views
about things, and he makes an awful fag of life. What's the good of it!
He'll be an old man before he's made up his mind which way he wants to
go. This sort of thing's good enough for me!"

The magnum had arrived, and Macheson lifted a foaming glass.

"Davenant," he declared, "you are a philosopher. We will drink to life
as it comes! To life--as it comes!"

They none of them noticed the little break in his voice. A party of
newcomers claimed their attention. Macheson, too, had seen them. He had
seen her. Like a gho