n, the Earl would also be angry. But of this last
she was in no very deadly fear. Of all the explanations which fall to be
made in this weary world, she found those with well-affected old
gentlemen to be the easiest. And indeed, she was not very particular
whether they were well-affected or not--that is, to begin with. The
shikar was only the more interesting if the tiger growled and showed his
teeth a bit at first.

Thereafter Patsy laid herself out to tease Louis, to bedazzle the poor
boy's brain, and to reduce him to the state of drivelling incompetence
induced by disobedience to the Arlington and dancing with herself. She
went so far that Louis, filled with a spirit more heady than wine, got
down on his knees and was trying to make Patsy understand his undying
devotion, when the curtain was pushed furiously aside and Mrs. Arlington
appeared menacing in the brilliant illumination of the stairs. Behind,
having no connection with her, but equally there on a mission of
vengeance, loomed up the chubby giant, Prince Eitel of Altschloss.

"Ah, Prince," said Patsy, not in the least ruffled, "is it time for our
dance already?"

"No," said the Prince austerely, "our dance was five or six back!"

Patsy glanced at her programme. She had carried it out to the very
hieroglyph. All those dances which she had specially marked, she had sat
out with Louis in the niche on the stairs. And now she did not mean to
leave the spoil in the hands of the enemy.

She rose to her feet, shook out her skirts, and said, "Now, Louis, give
me your arm and take me back to Lady Lucy. I don't think I shall dance
any more to-night. You had better come with us to Raincy House!
Good-night, Prince! I suppose we shall see you to-morrow!"

And so departed with the honours of war, leaving Eitel and Mrs.
Arlington to console each other as best they might.

CHAPTER XXX

A CREDIT TO THE "GREEN DRAGON"

The average riverine loafer about the Kew Waterfront, really a potential
cheat, robber, and occasional murderer, looked upon the recent arrival
at the "Green Dragon" as a prey specially destined by Providence for his
necessities. He was never more completely mistaken. Kennedy McClure was,
in the loafer's own language, "fly to the tricks of all wrong coves."
Had he not held his own (and more) for thirty years in a hundred markets
with horse-fakers and cattle-drovers? He did not "go after the
lush"--still less "follow the molls." He never walked by