"Do you suppose Mr. Cowles is engaged?" asked Kitty of her husband
impersonally, and apropos of nothing that I could see.

"I don't think so. He looks too deuced comfortable," drawled Stevenson.
I smiled.

"If he isn't engaged he will be before morning," remarked Kitty, smiling
at me.

"Indeed, and to whom, pray?" I inquired.

"How should I know? Indeed, how should you know? Any one of a
dozen--first one you see--first one who sees you; because you are tall,
and can dance."

"I hardly think I should dance."

"Of course you will dance. If you refuse you will be put in irons and
taken out to-morrow and shot. It will do you no good to sit and think,
poor boy."

"I have no clothes," I protested.

"Johnson will have your boxes out in time. But you don't want your own
clothes. This is _bal masque_, of course, and you want some sort of
disguise, I think you'd look well in one of Matt's uniforms."

"That's so," said Stevenson, "we're about of a size. Good disguise, too,
especially since you've never been here. They'll wonder who the new