fight at Waterloo."

"Your loss is our gain, Mr. McDermott," Francis answered, with a smile.
"You'd scarce be here to tell it if you had."

"And that's maybe true," Dermott said, pausing by the doorway to put on
his gloves. "But I'd rather have fought at Waterloo, even if I were dead
now, so that I could tell you exactly how it felt--There"--he broke his
speech with a laugh--"I caught myself on the way to an Irish bull.

"Oh! Mr. Ravenel," he called back suddenly, as though the thought had
just come to him, "I've been waiting your coming to have a talk with
you--a business talk--but not to-night." He waved the matter aside with
a gay, outward movement of the hands. "Sometime at your pleasure." Again
the eyes of the two met, and this time each measured the other more
openly than before.

"I shall be glad to see you at any time, Mr. McDermott," Frank answered,
his words courteous enough, but his eyes lacking warmth; and the
intuitive Celt realized that in Frank he had met one whom he had failed
either to bewilder or to charm.

"Madam!" he cried, saluting. "Mr. Francis Ravenel, delightful son of a
delightful mother! The top of the evening to both of ye." And with a
considered manner he made a stage exit, and Frank and Madam Ravenel
heard the gay voice--

"... most excellent Turk,
For I'm fond of tobacco and ladies--"