A Man's Man

  CHAPTER XIII

  _VARIUM ET MUTABILE_

  Hughie continued during the next few weeks to study the character of thefemale sex as exemplified by his ward Miss Joan Gaymer, and some factsin natural history were brought to his notice which had not hithertooccurred to him.

  In her relations with her male belongings a woman does not expect much.Certainly not justice, nor reason, nor common sense. That which shechiefly desires--so those who know inform us--is admiration, and, ifpossible, kindness, though the latter is not essential. The one thingshe cannot brook is neglect. Attention of some kind she must have.Satisfy her soul with this, and she will remain all you desire her toremain,--_toute femme_,--something for lonely mankind to thank God for.Stint her, and there is a danger that she will drift into the ranks ofthat rather pathetic third sex, born of higher education and femininesuperfluity, which to-day stands apart from its fellow-creatures andloudly proclaims its loathing for the masculinity of man and itscontempt for the effeminacy of woman, but which seems so far only tohave cast away the rapier of the one without being able to lift orhandle the bludgeon of the other.

  Not that Miss Joan Gaymer ran any such risk. She was indeed _toutefemme_, and stood secure from the prospect of being cut off from hernatural provender. Her chief danger was that of a surfeit. She possesseda more than usually healthy appetite for admiration, and there was neverwanting a supply of persons--chiefly of her own sex, be it said--toproclaim the fact that in her case the line between appetite andgluttony was very finely drawn indeed. There was some truth, it is to befeared, in the accusation, for Joan was undoubtedly exhibiting symptomsat this time of a species of mental indigestion--what the French call_tete montee_ and the Americans "swelled head"--induced by an undiluteddiet of worship and homage. Appetite for this sort of thing grows witheating, and Joan, like her mother before her, was beginning to think toomuch of those who supplied her with the meat her soul loved and toolittle of those who did not. And as those who did not were chiefly thosewho had her welfare most nearly at heart, she was deprived for the timebeing of a good deal of the solid sustenance of real friendship.

  She was a curious mixture of worldly wisdom and naivete, and was franklyinterested in herself. She was undisguisedly anxious to know what peoplethought of her, and made no attempt to conceal her pleasure when shefound herself "a success." On the other hand, she presumed a great dealtoo much on the patience and loyalty of her following. She was alwayscaptious, frequently inconsiderate, and, like most young persons whohave been respectably brought up, was desperately anxious to beconsidered rather wicked.

  These facts the slow-moving brain of Hughie Marrable absorbed one byone, and he felt vaguely unhappy on the girl's account, though he couldnot find it in his heart to blame her. Joey, he felt, was merely makingfull use of her opportunities. Within her small kingdom, and for herbrief term, she held authority as absolute as that, say, of a secretaryof state, nor was she fettered by any pedantic scruples, such as mighthave hampered the official in question, about exercising the same; andHughie, who was something of an autocrat himself, could not but admitthat his ward was acting very much, _mutatis mutandis_, as he would havedone under similar circumstances.

  But as time went on and his sense of perspective adjusted itself, hebegan to discover signs that beneath all her airs and graces and foamand froth, the old Joey endured. She was a creature of impulse, and hervagaries were more frequently due to the influence of the moment thanany desire to pose. She would disappoint a young man of a long-promised_tete-a-tete_ on the river, to go and play at shop in a plantation withthe under-keeper's children. She would shed tears over harrowing butunconvincing narratives of destitution at the back door. She was kind toplain girls,--which attractive girls sometimes are not,--and servantsadored her, which is a good sign of anybody.

  She was lavishly generous; indeed, it was never safe for her girlfriends to express admiration, however discreet, for anything belongingto her, for she had an embarrassing habit of tearing off articles ofattire or adornment and saying, "I'll give it to you!" with theeagerness and sincerity of a child.

  And her code of honour was as strict as a schoolboy's--than which nomore can be said. A secret was safe with her. She had once promptly andpermanently renounced the friendship of a particular crony of her own,who boasted to her, giving names and details, of a proposal of marriagewhich she had recently refused.

  In short, Miss Joan Gaymer strongly resembled the young lady who intimes long past was a certain poetical gentleman's Only Joy. Shewas sometimes forward, sometimes coy,--sometimes, be it added,detestable,--but she never failed to please--or rather, to attract,which is better still.

  Mrs. Jack Leroy spared neither age nor sex on the night of the HuntBall. Her husband, Hughie, and the Reverend Montague D'Arcy--allsuffering from that peculiar feeling of languid depression whichinvariably attacks the male sex about 9.30 P.M. when dancing is inprospect--were hounded into pumps and white gloves, and packed into theomnibus, which, after a drive of seven miles, during which the gentlemenslept furtively and the tongues of Joan and her girl friends waggedunceasingly, deposited the entire party of twelve on the steps of theTown Hall at Midfield.

  Their numbers had been completed by some overnight arrivals. The firsttwo were Mr. and Mrs. Lance Gaymer. Joan's only brother had taken uponhim the responsibility of matrimony at the early age of twenty-two,and the rather appalling young person who preceded him into thedrawing-room, and greeted Joan as "Jowey," was the accessory to thefact. Why or where Lance had married her no one knew. He had sprung herone day, half proudly, half defiantly, upon a family circle at Manorswhich was for the moment too horror-struck to do anything but gape.Fortunately Uncle Jimmy was not present,--he had departed on his voyageby this time,--and it was left to Joan to welcome the latest addition tothe house of Gaymer. This she did very sensibly and prettily, though shewept unrestrainedly upon the sympathetic bosom of Mildred Leroyafterwards.

  For Lance's sake Mrs. Gaymer was accepted without demur. Whatever shewas or had been,--whether she had manipulated a beer-engine orgesticulated in musical comedy,--there she was, and had to beassimilated. No questions were asked, but she was religiously invited toManors at intervals, and Joan and Mrs. Leroy, when they went up to townin the season, paid occasional state calls upon Mrs. Lance at herresidence in Maida Vale, where they drank tea in company with the_alumnae_ of the variety stage and the jug-and-bottle department.

  Lance himself was understood to be making a living out of journalism. Helooked considerably more than twenty-three.

  The third arrival was a Mr. Guy Haliburton, proposed for admission byMr. Lance Gaymer, seconded by Mrs. Lance Gaymer. He was full ofdeference, and apologised with graceful humility for his presence. Hefelt himself a horrible intruder, he said, but he had been assured soearnestly by "old Lance" that Mrs. Leroy was in want of another dancingman, that he had ventured to accept his vicarious invitation and come toManors. He was made welcome.

  Mr. Haliburton, on further acquaintance, described himself as an actor,but Hughie, whose judgments of men--as opposed to women--were seldomwrong, put him down unhesitatingly as a gentleman who lived, actor orno, by his wits. He was a striking-looking personage of about thirty. Hehad curly black hair and dark eyes, with dangerous eyelashes. He waswell dressed,--too well dressed for the country,--and one feltinstinctively that he was a good card-player, and probably objected tocold baths and early rising.

  The Manors party were greeted in the vestibule of the Town Hall by LadyFludyer, self-appointed Mistress of the Revels. At present she morenearly resembled a well-nourished Niobe.

  "My dear," she cried, falling limply upon Mrs. Leroy and kissing herfeverishly, "what _do_ you think has happened?"

  "Band not come?" hazarded Mrs. Leroy.

  "Worse! Not a man--not a subaltern--not a drummerboy can get away fromIpsleigh to-night!" (Ipsleigh was a neighbouring military _depot_, and afountain-head of eligibility in a barren
land.) "They have all beencalled out to some absurd inspection, or route-march, or manoeuvres, orsomething, at twenty-four hours' notice. And they were coming here in_swarms_! There won't be nearly enough men to go round now. Half thegirls will be against the wall all night! Oh, my _dear_, when I get holdof the General--"

  Lady Fludyer's voice rose to a shriek, and she plunged wailing into adark doorway, like a train entering a tunnel.

  Mrs. Leroy turned to her shrinking cavaliers, with satisfaction in hereye.

  "It's as well I brought the lot of you," she said. "Now get to work.Jack, the first waltz with you, if you please."

  The ball was soon in full swing, though it was only too plain that menwere somewhat scarce. Hughie, much to his alarm, found his programmefull in ten minutes, and presently, bitterly regretting the stokehold ofthe Orinoco, put forth into the fray with Mrs. Lance Gaymer, havingdecided to do his duty by that lady as soon as possible, and get itover. She addressed him as "dear boy," and waltzed in a manner whichreminded him of the Covent Garden balls of his youth, thereby causingthe highest and haughtiest of the county to inquire of their partnerswho she might be. The word soon passed round that she was the wife ofyoung Gaymer. ("You remember, don't you? Rather an unfortunate marriage,and all that. Barmaid, or something. However, the family have decided tomake the best of her. They'll have their hands full--eh?") Whereuponfair women elevated their discreetly powdered noses a little higher,while unregenerate men hurried up, like the Four Young Oysters, alleager for the treat, and furtively petitioned Lance Gaymer to introducethem to his wife.

  On entering the ballroom Joan Gaymer, serenely conscious of aperfectly-fitting new frock and her very best tinge of colour, took upher stand at her recognised "pitch" beside the end pillar on the leftunder the musicians' gallery, and proceeded to fill up the vacanciescaused in her programme by the defection of the dancing warriors fromIpsleigh. Among the first applicants for the favour of a waltz was Mr.Guy Haliburton.

  "All right--number two," said Joan.

  Haliburton wrote it down, and asked for another.

  "I'll see how you waltz first," said Miss Gaymer frankly."Then--perhaps! I am rather particular."

  The music had risen to her brain like wine, and she was in what heradmirers would have called her most regal, and her detractors hermost objectionable, mood. Mr. Haliburton, however, merely bowedreverentially, and made way for an avalanche of Binkses and Cherubs,with whom Joan, babbling at the top of her voice and enjoying everymoment of her triumph, booked a list of fixtures that stretched away farinto to-morrow morning.

  The waltz with the fascinating Haliburton proved so satisfactory,--inpoint of fact, he was easily the best dancer in the room,--that Joanimmediately granted him two more. It was characteristic of her that shedeclined to take the floor again until the unfortunate gentlemen atwhose expense Haliburton was being honoured had been found, brought toher, and apprised of their fate. They protested feebly, but Joan sweptthem aside in a fashion with which they were only too familiar.

  "Run way, chicks," she said maternally, "and get fresh partners. Thereare heaps of nice girls to spare to-night. Look at that little thingover there, with the blue eyes, and forget-me-nots in her hair. Getintroduced to her--she's perfectly _lovely_. Worth six of me, any day.Trot!"

  But the two young men, refusing to be comforted, growled sulkily andelbowed their way outside, to console each other for the fragility ofpetticoat promises, and fortify themselves against any further slingsand arrows of outrageous Fortune of a similar nature, in the refreshmentroom.

  Still, the girl to whom Joan had directed their attention was well worthnotice. She stood near the door, a slim, graceful, and somehow ratherappealing little figure. Her hair was the colour of ripe corn, her eyes,wide and wondering, were as blue as the forget-me-nots in her hair, andher lips, to quote King Solomon upon a very different type of female,were like a thread of scarlet. She wore a simple white frock, andcarried in her hand the bouquet of the _debutante_.

  Joan swung past her in the embrace of the ever-faithful Binks.

  "That child is a perfect dream," she said to herself, "but her mouth istrembling at the corners. I wonder if some man has forgotten to ask herto dance. I should think--"

  At this point in her reflections she was whirled heavily into the orbitof a reversing couple, and the ensuing collision, together with theenjoyment of exacting a grovelling apology from the hapless Binks (whowas in no way responsible for the accident), drove further cogitationson the subject of the girl with the forget-me-nots out of her head.

  About midnight Joan slipped upstairs to what her last partner--amechanically-minded young gentleman from Woolwich--described as therepairing shop, to make good the ravages effected by the Lancers asdanced in high society in the present year of grace.

  The music for the next waltz was just beginning when she returned to herpillar. No eager partner awaited her, which was unusual; and Joanglanced at her programme. She bit her lip.

  "Number eight," she said to herself. "Joey, my child, he has scored youoff--and you deserve it!"

  This cryptic utterance had reference to Mr. Hugh Marrable, to whom itmay be remembered this particular dance had been offered, much as a boneis thrown to a dog, on the lawn at Manors three days before.

  Hughie's subsequent demeanour had piqued his ward's curiosity. He hadmade no further reference to number eight, neither had he made anyattempt during this evening to come up and confirm the fixture. In fact,he had not asked Joan for a dance at all, with the consequence that MissGaymer, who, serenely confident that her guardian would come and eathumble pie at the last moment, had kept number eight free, now foundherself occupying the rather unusual _role_ of wallflower. What wasmore, she knew she would be unable to pick up a partner, for everyavailable man was being worked to the last ounce, and pretty girls stillsat here and there about the room, chatting with chaperons andmaintaining a brave appearance of enjoyment and _insouciance_.

  "I'm not going to let Hughie see me propping a wall _this_ dance," saidJoan to herself with decision. "He would think I had been keeping it forhim. What shall I do? Go back to the cloakroom? No; it is always full ofgirls without partners pretending they've just dropped in to get sewnup. I'll go to the Mayor's parlour and sit there. It's never used atthese dances."

  Making a mental entry on the debit side of her missing partner's ledger,Miss Gaymer retired unostentatiously from the ballroom, and turned downan unlighted passage, which was blocked by a heavy screen marked"Private," and encumbered with rolls of carpet and superfluousfurniture.

  The darkened passage was comfortably cool and peaceful after the blazeand turmoil of the field of action, and apparently had not beendiscovered by couples in search of seclusion. Joan was approaching theend, where she knew the door of the Mayor's parlour was situated, whenshe became aware of a certain subdued sound quite near her. It was asound well calculated to catch the ear of one so tender-hearted asherself. Some one was sobbing, very wretchedly, in the darkness within afew feet of her.

  Joan stopped short, a little frightened, and peered about her. Her eyeswere growing accustomed to the gloom, and presently she beheld a glimmerof white almost at her knee. The glimmer outlined itself into the formof a filmy ball-dress.

  Joan tackled the situation with her usual promptitude.

  "I say," she said, "what's the matter? Let me help you."

  The sobbing ceased, and the white figure sat up with a start.

  "If you don't mind," continued Joan, "I'm going to turn up this electriclight."

  There was a click, and the rays of a single and rather dustyincandescent lamp illuminated the scene, and with it the slender figure,seated forlornly on a roll of red carpet, of the little lady of theforget-me-nots.

  Her face was flushed with sudden shame, for her shoulders were stillheaving, and her cheeks glistened with tears, the which she dabbedconfusedly with a totally inadequate scrap of pocket handkerchief.

  Joan, regardless of her new frock, was down upon the dus
ty roll ofcarpet in a moment. She put her arm round the girl.

  "My dear," she said authoritatively, "what is it? Tell me."

  The girl told her. It was a simple story, and not altogether a novelone, but it contained the elements of tragedy for all that.

  This was her coming-out ball. She pointed to her discarded bouquet lyingon the grimy floor. Her father had put it into her hand, and hung alittle enamel pendant round her neck, and given her a kiss,--she toldher story with all a child's fidelity to detail,--and had despatched herin her brother's charge, with admonitions not to break too many hearts,on the long fourteen-mile drive to Midfield,--a period occupied inecstatic anticipations of the event to which she had been lookingforward ever since she had put her hair up.

  Her brother, on their arrival, had booked one dance withher,--subsequently cancelled with many apologies on the ground that hehad just met a girl whom he simply _must_ dance with,--and introducedher to two young men whose programmes were already full; after which hehad plunged into the crowd, comfortably conscious that his duty had beendone, leaving his sister to stand, smiling bravely, with tingling feetand her heart in her throat, from half-past nine until a quarter-pasttwelve. The music was pulsing in her ears, youth and laughter wereswinging easily past her--even brushing her skirt; and she was utterlyand absolutely alone. She was just eighteen; she was the prettiest girl(with the possible exception of Joan Gaymer) in the room; it was herfirst ball--and not a man had asked her to dance. A small matter,perhaps, compared with some, but men have blown out their brains forless.

  Long before she had sobbed out all her pitiful little narrative her headwas on Joan's shoulder, and that mercurial young person, oblivious ofeverything save the fact that here was a sister in distress, washandling the situation as if she were twenty years her companion'ssenior instead of two.

  "I stood it for nearly three hours," said the girl apologetically, "andthen I--I came here."

  "Well, my dear," said Joan with decision, "you aren't going to stay hereany longer. You are coming straight back to the ballroom with me."

  "I can't," replied the girl,--"I couldn't _bear_ it!"

  "You are coming back to the ballroom with me," repeated Miss Gaymerfirmly. "There are sixteen dances to go yet, and you are going to dancethe soles of your slippers through, my child!"

  "You are awfully kind," said the girl wistfully, "but you won't be ableto find me a partner now."

  "I can find you sixteen," said Joan.

  The child turned wondering eyes on her, and asked a question.

  "Me? Oh, I shall have a rest: I want one," replied Miss Gaymer,_splendide mendax_. "In fact, it will be a charity on your part to takethem. They're all stupid, and they can't dance."

  But the girl shook her head.

  "You're a dear to suggest it," she said, "but it wouldn't do. Think howangry they would be, having booked a dance with Miss Gaymer, and onlygetting--"

  "Do you know me?" asked Joan in surprise.

  "Everybody knows you," said the girl.

  Joan flushed rosily. It was a compliment after her own heart.

  "I say, what's _your_ name?" she asked.

  "Sylvia Tarrant."

  Joan nodded. "I know now," she said. "You live near Gainford."

  The Tarrants were new-comers. Sylvia's father was a retired sailor and awidower, and had but lately settled in the district, which would accountfor his daughter's want of acquaintance.

  "Yes," said Sylvia. "But really, I could not take your partners. They'dbe furious at getting me instead of you."

  Miss Gaymer turned and scrutinised the face and figure beside her.

  "All you want, my child," she said, "is a _start_. After to-night you'llnever be left alone for two seconds at any ball you care to go to. Infact, I don't see how I shall ever be able to get any partners at all,"she added plaintively.

  At this idea the girl laughed and looked happier, which was just exactlywhat Joan meant her to do. Her spirit was returning.

  Joan rose briskly.

  "Now, Sylvia," she said, "I'm going to leave you for two minutes,because I want to find a man to send round and tell all my partners thatyou've agreed to take them on. Then I'll come back and get you started.Just put yourself straight. There's a loose end of hair here: I'll rollit up. There! Your eyes are getting better every minute. Give your skirta shake out, and have a look at yourself in that mirror, and you'll besimply perfect. So long!"

  "There's somebody coming," said Sylvia, turning from her toilet andlooking over her shoulder.

  A masculine form filled the passage. It was Hughie, who, deprived of apartner through Joan's absence,--the result of standing on his dignityin the matter of number eight,--was prowling about in search of a quietspot where he might indulge in the luxury of a pipe.

  Joan, who had forgotten all about number eight, received him withunfeigned pleasure, and hurried him back whence he came. On the way shebreathlessly explained the situation to him.

  "Hughie, that poor child has come here not knowing a soul, and has stoodagainst the wall for three hours. There isn't a partner to be had forlove or money at this hour, so she must just have mine. Take myprogramme--wait a minute, I'll fill in some of these initials--and goround to all the men whose names are on it, and tell them I'm very sorrybut I've got a headache and can't dance any more to-night, but they'reto come to me at once at my pillar and be introduced to a substituteI've provided for them."

  "Do you think they'll exactly--_jump_ at the idea of a substitute?"suggested Hughie mildly.

  "Their business," said Miss Gaymer with a sudden return to her usualmanner, "is to do what I tell them! Run, Hughie. Don't say a word aboutthe poor kid not having been able to get partners, will you? Say shecame late--anything! You understand?"

  Hughie nodded.

  "I understand," he said. "She came late, and you have a headache. Thoseare the two essential facts of the case--eh?"

  "Yes. Hurry!" said Joan, giving her guardian a push.

  "Joey," said Hughie, "you're a brick!"

  * * * * *

  Half an hour later the members of the Midfield Hunt Ball wereelectrified to behold Miss Joan Gaymer sitting between two comatose andfamished chaperons, watching the dancers with indulgent eye, andgenerally presenting the appearance of one whose time for these folliesis overpast.

  Then heads began to turn in another direction. People were asking oneanother who the little thing with the forget-me-nots might be, whodanced like a fairy, and appeared to have made a "corner" in all MissGaymer's usual admirers. Had her appearance anything to do with MissGaymer's retirement? A case of pique--eh? Heads wagged sagely, andeyebrows were elevated. Poor Joan! Like all the great ones of the earth,she had her detractors.

  Sylvia herself was lost in the clouds by this time. When not engaged inobeying Joan's mandate to dance the soles of her slippers through, shewas granting interviews to obsequious young men, who surged round inrespectful platoons and hoped that, though disappointed on thisoccasion, they might have the pleasure at the County Bachelors' onThursday fortnight.

  Never was there such a triumph. The girl, radiant and fluttering, smiledand blushed and wrote down hopeless hieroglyphics on the back of herprogramme, while Miss Joan Gaymer, the deposed, the eclipsed, satcontentedly by and realised to the full the truth of her own dictum thatall Sylvia Tarrant wanted was a start.

  Later in the evening the watchful eye of Hughie Marrable detected thefact that Joan had disappeared from amid the concourse of matrons, andhe speculated as to where she might be. He himself was enjoying a briefperiod of freedom, his partner for the moment having pleaded urgentprivate repairs and vanished to the regions above, and the idea hadstruck him that Joan might be going supperless.

  A brief scrutiny informed him that she was neither in the ballroom northe supper-room. Then an inspiration seized him. Waiting for acomparatively quiet moment, he paid a hasty visit to the latterapartment, and having levied a contribution upon the side-table, slippedfur
tively round the big screen and down the dark passage.

  His instincts had not failed him. Miss Joan Gaymer was sittingpeacefully upon the roll of red carpet. Her head was lying back againstthe wall, and the rays of the dusty electric light glinted upon hercoppery hair. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them at Hughie'sapproach, blinking like a sleepy Dryad.

  "Hallo, Hughie!" she observed. "You nearly won a pair of gloves thattime. Long evening, this!"

  Hughie began to deposit articles on the floor.

  "Supper," he observed briefly.

  He laid out a plate of mayonnaise, another of trifle, a bottle abouthalf-full of champagne, and a tumbler.

  "Hughie," said Joan, "you're the only real friend I have in the world! Iwas nearly _crying_ for something to eat. That, and seeing other peopledance and not me. Hughie, it was simply awful! I had no idea: if I hadsat there much longer I should have burst into tears. I'd forgotten,too, that by giving away all my partners I was giving away my supper. IfI'd remembered I would have kept just one--a little one. But never mind,now: the plague is stayed. I owe you one for this. How did you manage tocarry all those things?"

  "Large hands," said Hughie. "Half a minute!"

  He produced from his tail-pocket two forks, a napkin, and a bottle ofsoda-water.

  "I remembered you liked your drink diluted," he said, pouring out bothbottles at once. "I noticed it at dinner, the other night."

  "Hughie, you're a dear!" said Joan impulsively.

  "Say when!" remarked Hughie unsteadily.

  * * * * *

  It was five o'clock in the morning. The band had played "Whisper and Ishall hear," followed by "John Peel," followed by "God save the King,"followed by "John Peel," once more, followed by "God save the King"again, and the musicians were now putting away their instruments with anair of finality which intimated that in their humble opinion theMidfield Hunt Ball had had its money's worth.

  The Manors party, all twelve of them, were being scientifically packedinto an omnibus constructed to seat ten uncomfortably, and Joan waswaiting her turn in the portico. At this moment Sylvia Tarrant, followedby a slightly sheepish brother, came down the steps. Her cheeks wereexcessively pink and her eyes blazed.

  She saw Joan, and stopped.

  "I was afraid I was going to miss you," she said. "Good-night!"

  "Good-night!" said Joan.

  The little girl--she was a head shorter than Joan--placed her hands uponher new friend's shoulders, and stood on tiptoe.

  "I should like to kiss you," she said shyly.

  "Oh, my dear!" said Joan, quite flustered. "Of course--if you like.There!"

  She was unusually silent all the way home, and when they reached Manorssaid good-night to Mrs. Leroy and flitted upstairs to her room. The restof the party dispersed ten minutes later, and Hughie was left alone withhis host and hostess.

  "I have never known that child have a headache before," said Mrs. Leroyrather anxiously, as Hughie lighted her candle. "I hope there's nothingwrong."

  "She's as right as rain," said Hughie. "She gave up all herpartners--every man Jack of them--I mean--I'm sorry! I don't think shemeant me to tell--"

  "You may as well finish now," said Mrs. Leroy composedly.

  Hughie did so. Mrs. Leroy nodded.

  "It was like her," she said softly, "especially telling you to keepquiet about it. A good many women might have given up their dances, butvery few could have resisted the temptation to make capital out of theirgenerosity. Never tell me again, miserable creature," she continued,turning suddenly upon her comatose spouse, "that a woman is incapable ofdoing a good turn to another woman!"

  "Cert'nly, m'dear," replied Captain Leroy, making a desperate effort toclose his mouth and open his eyes.

  "But of course," broke in Hughie unexpectedly, "there are precious fewwomen like Joey."

  Then he bit his lip, and turned a dusky red.

  Mrs. Leroy, being a woman, took no outward notice, but her husband, whowas a plain creature, turned and regarded his guest with undisguisedinterest.

  "What _ho_!" he remarked, wagging his sleepy head.

  "Good-night, old man!" said Hughie hurriedly.