Rupert with a rapier concealed somewhere about his person. Ruperts and
rapiers are inseparably associated in my mind. Well--shall I, after
supper, drive back with Rupert and praise up Miss Irwin--or not?"

"Yes, if you think it is a good thing."

"_If_ I think it's a good thing! Nothing in the world has such a good
effect on a man as the admiration of another man for the girl he
admires."

"But don't do too much digging in the ribs--don't overdo it. Rupert,
though he doesn't carry a rapier, isn't quite a modern cynical man, and
with all his affectations I believe he has a very sweet nature. He'll be
good to Madeline--I want her to be happy."

"Well, at any rate, if she likes him she may as well have her fling at
him," said Nigel carelessly.

Bertha looked annoyed.

"That isn't the point only--silly! If she liked _you_ ever so much and
you were free, do you suppose I would take her side--help her?"

"I hope not," said Nigel insinuatingly, suddenly changing his seat to
one close to Bertha.

She looked calmly away, as if bored.

He saw it was the wrong tone and stood up, with his back to the
mantelpiece, looking at her.

"I like your frock, Bertha."

She looked down at it.

"You have an extraordinary air of not knowing what you have got on. I
never saw a woman look so unconscious of her dress. There's a good deal
of the art that conceals art about it, I fancy. Your clothes are
attractive--in an impressionist way!"

"The only thing I think of about my dresses, is that they should make
people admire me--not my dressmaker," said Bertha candidly. "I don't
care for much variety, and I leave real smartness to Madeline and the
other tall, slim girls. My figure is so wrong! How dare I be short and
tiny, and yet not thin, nowadays?"

"You're exquisite--at least in my opinion. I've never been an admirer of
the lamp-post as the type of a woman's figure."

She looked bored again. "Oh, please don't! I don't care what you
like--so long as you like Mary, who was very graceful and _chic_, I
thought, the other night at the opera."

It was Nigel's turn to look bored.

"Yes. ... What is this chap like, this Semolini man?"

"He's not like anything. He's a nice little thing."

"Signor Semolini," announced the servant.

A very small, very brown young man came in, clean-shaven, with large
bright blue eyes, black hair, and a single eyeglass with a black ribbon.

They greeted him cordially, convinced him that he was we