ining a listener. The sympathy and gentleness of Mrs. West led
John Dene to talk in a way that surprised Dorothy, accustomed to his
habitual suspicion of strangers--British strangers.

"Say, does this bother you any?" he enquired presently of Mrs. West,
indicating the cigar from which he was puffing clouds of smoke.

"Not at all," said Mrs. West, striving to keep from choking. "I--I
like smoke."

Dorothy tittered in spite of herself at the expression of martyrdom on
her mother's face. John Dene turned to her enquiringly; she developed
her giggle into a cough.

"But you like England, Mr. Dene?" asked Mrs. West by way of bridging
the slight gulf that Dorothy's giggle had caused.

"Sure," said John Dene; "but I don't seem to be able to figure things
out here as I did at T'ronto. Over there we're just as dead keen on
winning this war as we are on keeping alive; but here----" He filled
in the hiatus with a volume of cigar smoke.

"And don't you think we want to win the war, Mr. Dene?" asked Dorothy.

"Well, some of those dancing lizards up at the Admiralty have a funny
way of showing it," was the grim rejoinder.

"Please, Mr. Dene, what is a dancing lizard?" asked Dorothy demurely,
developing a design that she was making in the gravel with the end of
her sunshade.

"Dorothy!" expostulated Mrs. West, and then without giving him an
opportunity of replying, she continued: "but, Mr. Dene, I'm sure they
are all extremely patriotic and--and----"

"Perhaps it's because I don't understand Englishmen," he conceded.
"Why, the other day, when Sir Lyster took me along to see Mr. Llewellyn
John about one of the biggest things that's ever likely to come his
way, what do you think he talked about?"

Mrs. West shook her head, with a smile that seemed to say it was not
for her to suggest what First Lords talked of.

"Pelicans!" Into that simple and unoffending word John Dene managed to
precipitate whole dictionaries of contempt and disapproval.

"Pelicans!" repeated Mrs. West in surprise, whilst Dorothy turned aside
to hide the smile that was in danger of becoming a laugh.

"Sure," replied John Dene. "Birds with beaks like paddle-blades," he
added, as if to leave no room for misunderstanding.

"But didn't Nero fiddle while Rome burned?" enquired Dorothy
mischievously.

"Maybe," was the reply, "but I'll auction it didn't put the fire out."

Dorothy laughed.

"You see, Mr. Dene," said Mrs. West gently, "different c