e. It will be very kind of you, Cobbett, to enlighten us,--to
show us something _good_, in fact."

"Really, you know, you flatter me absurdly," says Cobbett, the
self-depreciation fainter, the smirk broader.

Lord Rossmoyne, whose good temper is not his strong point, glances
angrily at him, smothers an explosive speech, and walks away with a
sneer.

"And Sir Peter,--who will kindly undertake Sir Peter?" asks Olga, with a
smile that is faintly sarcastic. "Will you, Owen?" to Mr. Kelly.

"Don't ask me. I could not act with Cobbett and Miss Fitzgerald. I mean,
I should only disgrace them," says Kelly, who is a member of a famous
dramatic club in Dublin, and who has had two offers from London managers
to tread the boards. "I feel I'm not up to it, indeed."

"I suspect you are not," says Hermia Herrick, with a sudden smile that
lights up all her cold impassive face. Kelly, catching it, crawls lazily
over to her, along the grass, Indian fashion, and finding a fold of her
gown lays his arm on it, and his head on his arm, and relapses into
silence.

"Ryde has done it," says Captain Cobbett.

"Indeed!" says Olga, raising questioning eyes to the big marine standing
behind Monica's chair.

"Ye--es. We--er--do a good deal of that sort of thing in _our_ country,"
says Ryde, with conscious worth. "I have done Sir Peter once or twice;
and people have been good enough not to--" with a little laugh--"_hiss_
me. I have a style of my own; but--er----" with an encouraging glance at
the other men, "I daresay there are many here who could do it as I do
it."

"Not _one_, I am convinced," says Desmond, promptly; and Monica laughs
softly.

"We must think it over. I don't believe anything so important could be
got up without deep deliberation----" Olga is beginning, when Kelly, by
a movement of the hand, stops her.

"Do let it go on to its bitter end," he says, in a whisper, with most
unusual animation for him. "Mrs. Herrick, help me."

"Why not, Olga?" says Hermia, in a low tone. "The principal characters
are willing; we have not had a real laugh for some time: why throw away
such a _perfect_ chance?"

"Oh! _that_----" says Olga.

Here a slight diversion is caused by the appearance of a footman, tea
tray, a boy, a gypsy table, a maid, a good deal of fruit, maraschino,
brandy, soda, _and_ Madam O'Connor. The latter, to tell the truth, has
been having a siesta in the privacy of her own room, and has now come
down, like a giant