to hold her hand, or something like
that?"

"What!" he gasps. "Try to hold hands with the stately Miss Adams? Heaven
forbid! I'm not absolutely reckless, you know. It was in our first
confidential chat that I went on the rocks. We'd discussed polo for half
an hour, until I found she knew more about the English team than I did.
Why, she'd visited at Hurlingham House during the practice matches. So I
floundered about, trying to shift the subject, until we hit on antique
vases--deuced if I know why. But my Governor dabbled in such junk a bit,
you know, and I suppose I thought, from having heard him talk, that I
was up on antiques. But, say, hanged if she couldn't name more kinds
than I ever knew existed! Rippled on about Pompeian art, and Satsuma
ware, and Egyptian tear jugs as readily as Ted Keefe, my stable manager,
would about ponies. I tried again and asked if she'd seen many of the
new plays, and the next thing I knew I was bluffing through a dialogue
about Galsworthy and Masefield and Sudermann on an experience strictly
limited to musical comedies and Belasco's latest. Whe-e-e-ew! I made my
escape after that. Say, isn't it a shame a girl with eyes like hers
should know so blamed much?"

I couldn't help grinnin' at Monty, and when I picks up Sadie again I
gives her the diagnosis.

"Case of springin' the highbrow chatter on a sportin' chappy that wears
a fifteen and a half collar and a six and three-quarters hat," says I.
"He's as thankful as if he'd come through a train wreck with his
cigarette still lighted. You ought to tip Veronica to chop her lines and
work the spell with her eyes."

"Pooh!" says Sadie. "Monty never had a chance, anyway. You can't expect
a brilliant girl like Veronica to be satisfied with a husband who's at
his best only when he's knocking a goal or leading a hunt, even if he is
big and handsome."

But with this as a clew I figured out how two or three of the other
candidates came to side-step so abrupt. The average Johnny is all right
so long as the debate is confined to gossipy bits about the latest Reno
recruits, or who's to be asked to Mrs. Stuyve Fish's next dinner dance;
but cut loose on anything serious and you have him grabbin' for the
lifeline.

There was two, though, that came through to the finals, as you might
say. One was this German guy, Baron Duesseldorf; and the other was young
Beverley Duer, whose fad is takin' movin' pictures of wild animals in
their native jungles and g