He stopped at the table, and Stella turned from the window and moved
forward. Her face was pale, but she was smiling.

"Captain Monck is coming with us, Tommy," she said.

"What?" Tommy looked up sharply. "Really? I say, Monck, I'm pleased.
It'll do you good."

Monck was smiling also, faintly, grimly. "Don't mix any strong waters
for me, Tommy!" he said. "And you had better not be too generous to
yourself! Remember, you will have to dance with Lady Harriet!"

Tommy grimaced above the glasses. "All right. Have some lime-juice! You
will have to dance with her too. That's some consolation!"

"I?" said Monck. He took the glass and handed it to Stella, then as she
shook her head he put it to his own lips and drank as a man drinks to a
memory. "No," he said then. "I am dancing only one dance to-night, and
that will not be with Lady Harriet Mansfield."

"Who then?" questioned Tommy.

It was Stella who answered him, in her voice a note that sounded
half-reckless, half-defiant. "It isn't given to every woman to dance at
her own funeral," she said: "Captain Monck has kindly consented to
assist at the orgy of mine."

"Stella!" protested Tommy, flushing. "I hate to hear you talking like
that!"