ood, 'but there are a good many people in
Maasau who think her handsomer than I do.'

'Yet you tell me that you are again on your way to her house this
evening. Can't you get through the day without a glimpse of her?'

'Does it seem so bad as all that?' asked Rallywood reflectively. 'Yes, I
suppose I like going there; yet as I have said before, there are a good
many people who appreciate her more than I do.'

'Then what in the world takes you there?'

An odd expression grew slowly into the young man's face.

'Because of the other people, I suppose,' he repeated dreamily.

'As for instance?'

Rallywood woke up from his thoughts and shook himself.

'Unziar,' he returned with a grin.

Counsellor opened the stove and threw in the remnant of his cigar.

'Ah!' he commented significantly; 'and I presume Unziar goes there to
meet you. I begin to see.'

Rallywood laughed.

'I'm hanged if I do! By the way, the Countess wants of all things to
make a friend of you. She says the English are so reliable. But you are
such an old bear the women can't get at you.'

'So much the better for me,' was the grim reply. 'Also I am sorry that I
can't reciprocate the Countess's opinion of me. There are very few
reliable women. If I had ever found one I might have married her.'

'That is a hard saying, Major. You've been unlucky. That's where it
hurts with you!'

'No, I've no personal feeling in the matter. I share the opinion in
common with many wise men. Let me refer you to Solomon, the census of
whose harem warrants us in believing that what he didn't know about
women wasn't worth knowing. Yet he records as his experience, "One man
among a thousand have I found; but a woman among all these have I not
found."'

'I bet he didn't! You can't sample a delicate quality in the bulk,'
retorted Rallywood, and was already at the door when an idea stopped
him. 'Look here, Major; come with me and revise your verdict.'

To his surprise Counsellor stood up and asked one more question.

'Countess Isolde invited me?'

'Any number of times, as you know.'

'The more fool she,' growled Counsellor; 'I'll go.'

The cotillon, danced with its hundred absurdities, was as fashionable at
Revonde as elsewhere. Counsellor, like a courtly bear, was induced to
join in its whimsical vagaries.

The details of the cotillon obtaining at that period do not concern us
here. It is sufficient to say that, as a result of some evolution, by
chance or by c