and several other
decent-minded people who happen to count in town."

Ferrall, his legs swinging busily, thought again; then: "Who was the
girl, Stephen?"

"I don't think the papers mentioned her name," said Siward gravely.

"Oh--I beg your pardon; I thought she was some notorious
actress--everybody said so. ... Who were those callow fools who put you
up to it? ... Never mind if you don't care to tell. But it strikes me they
are candidates for club discipline as well as you. It was up to them to
face the governors I think--"

"No, I think not."

Ferrall, legs swinging busily, considered him.

"Too bad," he mused; "they need not have dropped you--"

"Oh, they had to. But as long as the Lenox takes no action I can live
that down."

Ferrall nodded: "I came in to say something--a message from
Grace--confound it! what was it? Oh--could you--before dinner--now--just
sit down and with that infernal facility of yours make a sketch of a man
chasing a gun-shy dog?"

"Why yes--if Mrs. Ferrall wishes--"

He walked over to the desk in his shirt-sleeves, sat down, drew a blank
sheet of paper toward him, and, dipping his pen, drew carelessly a
gun-shy setter dog rushing frantically across the stubble, and after
him, bare-headed, gun in hand, the maddest of men.

"Put a Vandyke beard on him," grinned Ferrall over his shoulder. "There!
O Lord! but you have hit it! Put a ticked saddle on the cur--there!"

"Who is this supposed to be?" began Siward, looking up. But "Wait!"
chuckled his host, seizing the still wet sketch, and made for the door.

Siward strolled into the bath-room, washed a spot or two of ink from
his fingers, returned and buttoned his waistcoat, then, completing an
unhurried toilet, went out and down the stairway to the big living-room.
There were two or three people there--Mrs. Leroy Mortimer, very fetching
with her Japanese-like colouring, black hair and eyes that slanted just
enough; Rena Bonnesdel, smooth, violet-eyed, blonde, and rather stunning
in a peculiarly innocent way; Miss Caithness, very pale and slimly
attractive; and the Page boys, Willis and Gordon, delightfully shy and
interested, and having a splendid time with any woman who could afford
the intellectual leisure.

Siward spoke pleasantly to them all. Other people drifted down--Marion
Page who looked like a school-marm and rode like a demon; Eileen
Shannon, pink and white as a thorn blossom, with the deuce to pay
lurking in her grey eyes