would be inhuman. I allow you a few day's rest."

Indeed, now she was here I had a curious desire to keep her. I regarded
the failure of my eumoirous little plans with more than satisfaction.
I had done my best. I had found (through the dwarf's agency) Captain
Vauvenarde. I had satisfied myself that he was an outrageous person,
thoroughly disqualified from becoming Lola's husband, and there was
an end of the matter. Meanwhile Fate (again through the agency of
Anastasius) had brought her many hundreds of miles away from Dale and
had moreover brought her to me. I was delighted. I patted Destiny on the
back, and drank his health in excellent Pommery. Lola did not know in
the least what I meant, but she smiled amiably and drank the toast. It
was quite a merry dinner. Lola threw herself into my mood and jested as
if she had never heard of an undesirable husband who had been kicked
out of the French Army. We talked of many things. I described in fuller
detail my adventure with Anastasius and Saupiquet, and we laughed over
the debt of fifteen sous and the elaborate receipt.

"Anastasius," she said, "is childish in many ways--the doctors have a
name for it."

"Arrested development."

"That's it; but he is absolutely cracked on one point--the poisoning of
my horse Sultan. He has reams of paper which he calls the dossier of the
crime. You never saw such a collection of rubbish in your life. I cried
over it. And he is so proud of it, poor wee mite." She laughed suddenly.
"I should love to have seen you hobnobbing with him and Saupiquet."

"Why?"

"You're so aristocratic-looking," she did me the embarrassing honour to
explain in her direct fashion. "You're my idea of an English duke."

"My dear Lola," I replied, "you're quite wrong. The ordinary English
duke is a stout, middle-aged gentleman with a beard, and he generally
wears thick knickerbockers and shocking bad hats."

"Do you know any?"

"Two or three," I admitted.

"And duchesses, too?"

I again pleaded guilty. In these democratic days, if one is engaged in
public and social affairs one can't help running up against them. It is
their fault, not mine.

"Do tell me about them," said Lola, with her elbows on the table.

I told her.

"And are earls and countesses just the same?" she asked with a
disappointed air.

"Just the same, only worse. They're so ordinary you can't pick them out
from common misters and missuses."

Saying this I rose, for we had finished