r example--and--oh--anything. He
once swam--oh, dear, I forget; was it five or fifteen or fifty miles? Is
that _too_ far? Do people swim those distances?"

"Some of those distances," replied Selwyn.

"Well, then, Gerald swam some of those distances--and everybody was
amazed. . . . I do wish you knew him well."

"I mean to," he said. "I must look him up at his rooms or his club
or--perhaps--at Neergard & Co."

"_Will_ you do this?" she asked, so earnestly that he glanced up
surprised.

"Yes," he said; and after a moment: "I'll do it to-day, I think; this
afternoon."

"Have you time? You mustn't let me--"

"Time?" he repeated; "I have nothing else, except a watch to help me get
rid of it."

"I'm afraid I help you get rid of it, too. I heard Nina warning the
children to let you alone occasionally--and I suppose she meant that for
me, too. But I only take your mornings, don't I? Nina is unreasonable; I
never bother you in the afternoons or evenings; do you know I have not
dined at home for nearly a month--except when we've asked people?"

"Are you having a good time?" he asked condescendingly, but without
intention.

"Heavenly. How can you ask that?--with every day filled and a chance to
decline something every day. If you'd only go to one--just one of the
dances and teas and dinners, you'd be able to see for yourself what a
good time I am having. . . . I don't know why I should be so
delightfully lucky, but everybody asks me to dance, and every man I meet
is particularly nice, and nobody has been very horrid to me; perhaps
because I like everybody--"

She rode on beside him; they were walking their horses now; and as her
silken-coated mount paced forward through the sunshine she sat at ease,
straight as a slender Amazon in her habit, ruddy hair glistening at the
nape of her neck, the scarlet of her lips always a vivid contrast to
that wonderful unblemished skin of snow.

He thought to himself, quite impersonally: "She's a real beauty, that
youngster. No wonder they ask her to dance and nobody is horrid. Men are
likely enough to go quite mad about her as Nina predicts: probably some
of 'em have already--that chuckle-headed youth who was there Tuesday,
gulping up the tea--" And, "What was his name?" he asked aloud.

"Whose name?" she inquired, roused by his voice from smiling
retrospection.

"That chuckle head--the young man who continued to haunt you so
persistently when you poured tea for Nina on Tuesday