"Let me see," said Denry further, pulling a book from his pocket and
peering into it, "you owe five quarters' rent--thirty pounds."

He knew without the book precisely what Ruth owed, but the book kept him
in countenance, supplied him with needed moral support.

Ruth Earp, without the least warning, exploded into a long peal of gay
laughter. Her laugh was far prettier than her face. She laughed well.
She might, with advantage to Bursley, have given lessons in laughing as
well as in dancing, for Bursley laughs without grace. Her laughter was a
proof that she had not a care in the world, and that the world for her
was naught but a source of light amusement.

Denry smiled guardedly.

"Of course, with me it's purely a matter of business," said he.

"So that's what Mr Herbert Calvert has done!" she exclaimed, amid the
embers of her mirth. "I wondered what he would do! I presume you know
all about Mr Herbert Calvert," she added.

"No," said Denry, "I don't know anything about him, except that he owns
some property and I'm in charge of it. Stay," he corrected himself, "I
think I do remember crossing his name off your programme once."

And he said to himself: "That's one for her. If she likes to be so
desperately funny about postage-stamps, I don't see why I shouldn't have
my turn." The recollection that it was precisely Herbert Calvert whom he
had supplanted in the supper-dance at the Countess of Chell's historic