ysical. A few moments later Courtlandt
saw a smile of malice part her lips, for he found himself between Celeste
and the inevitable frump.

"Touched!" he murmured, for he was a thorough sportsman and appreciated a
good point even when taken by his opponent.

"I never saw anything like it," whispered Mrs. Harrigan into the colonel's
ear.

"Saw what?" he asked.

"Mr. Courtlandt can't keep his eyes off of Nora."

"I say!" The colonel adjusted his eye-glass, not that he expected to see
more clearly by doing so, but because habit had long since turned an
affectation into a movement wholly mechanical. "Well, who can blame him?
Gad! if I were only twenty-five or thereabouts."

Mrs. Harrigan did not encourage this regret. The colonel had never been a
rich man. On the other hand, this Edward Courtlandt was very rich; he was
young; and he had the entree to the best families in Europe, which was
greater in her eyes than either youth or riches. Between sips of tea she
builded a fine castle in Spain.

Abbott and the Barone carried their cups and cakes over to the bench and
sat down on the grass, Turkish-wise. Both simultaneously offered their
cakes, and Nora took a ladyfinger from each. Abbott laughed and the Barone
smiled.

"Oh, daddy mine!" sighed Nora drolly.

"Huh?"

"Don't let mother see those shoes."

"What's the matter with 'em? Everybody's wearing the same."

"Yes. But I don't see how you manage to do it. One shoe-string is virgin
white and the other is pagan brown."

"I've got nine pairs of shoes, and yet there's always something the
matter," ruefully. "I never noticed when I put them on. Besides, I wasn't
coming."

"That's no defense. But rest easy. I'll be as secret as the grave."

"Now, I for one would never have noticed if you hadn't called my
attention," said the padre, stealing a glance at his own immaculate
patent-leathers.

"Ah, Padre, that wife of mine has eyes like a pilot-fish. I'm in for it."

"Borrow one from the colonel before you go home," suggested Abbott.

"That's not half bad," gratefully.

Harrigan began to recount the trials of forgetfulness.

Slyly from the corner of her eye Nora looked at Courtlandt, who was at
that moment staring thoughtfully into his tea-cup and stirring the
contents industriously. His face was a little thinner, but aside from that
he had changed scarcely at all; and then, because these two years had left
so little mark upon his face, a tinge of unreasonable