to-night?"

"Neither was I," the man addressed as "Pickles" retorted, "but Miss
Jacky promised me two dances," he went on, in strong Irish brogue; "that
settled it. How d'ye do, Mrs. Abbot? Come along, Miss Jacky, we're
losing half our dance."

The girl took the proffered arm and was about to move off. She turned
and spoke to "Lord" Bill over her shoulder.

"How much?"

Bill shrugged his shoulders in a deprecating fashion. The same gentle
smile hovered round his sleepy eyes.

"Three thousand dollars."

Jacky glided off into the already dancing throng.

For a moment the Hon. Bunning-Ford and Mrs. Abbot watched the girl as
she glided in and out amongst the dancers, then, with a sigh, the old
lady turned to her companion. Her kindly wrinkled old face wore a sad
expression and a half tender look was in her eyes as they rested upon
the man's face. When she spoke, however, her tone was purely
conversational.

"Are you not going to dance?"

"No," abstractedly. "I think I've had enough."