"Ah!" The speaker raised his glass and looked at John Steele. The latter
was nonchalantly regarding the pages of a book he yet held; his face was
half-turned from the nobleman. The clear-cut, bold profile, the easy,
assured carriage, so suggestive of strength, seemed to attract, to
compel Lord Ronsdale's attention.

"For my part," went on Sir Charles in a somewhat disappointed tone, "I
am one who views with regret the decadence of a great national pastime."

He regarded Ronsdale; the latter set down his glass untasted. "My own
opinion," he said crisply; then his face changed; he looked toward the
door.

"Well, it's over!" the light tones of Jocelyn Wray interrupted; the girl
stood on the threshold, glancing gaily from one to the other. "Did you
tell my uncle, Mr. Steele, what you thought of his purchase? I see,
while on his favorite subject, he has forgotten to offer you a cigar."

Sir Charles hastened to repair his remissness.

"But how," she went on, "did it go? The program, I mean. Have you
forgiven me yet for asking you to come, Mr. Steele?"

"Forgiven?" he repeated. Lord Ronsdale's eyes narrowed on them.

"Confess," she continued, sinking to the arm of a great chair, "you had
your misgivings?"

He regarded the supple, slender figure, so airily poised. As she bent