have her?"

"In a minute, Barry"--Kitty nodded at him cheerfully. "We're just
settling plans about Nan."

"Nan? I should have imagined that young woman was very capable of making
her own plans," returned Barry Seymour, letting his long length down into
a chair. "In fact, I was under the impression she'd already made 'em,"
he added with a grin.

"No, they're unsettled at present," returned Kitty. "She's not very keen
about Maryon Rooke now." Kitty was of the opinion that you should never
tell even the best of husbands more than he need know. "So we think she
requires distraction," she pursued firmly.

"And who's the poor devil you've fixed on as a burnt-offering?" enquired
Seymour, tugging reflectively at his big, fair moustache.

"It certainly is a man," conceded Kitty.

"Naturally," agreed her husband amicably.

"But I'm not going to tell you who it is or I know you'd let the cat out
of the bag, and then Nan will be put off at the beginning.
Men"--superbly--"never can keep a secret."

"But they can use their native observation, my dear," retorted Barry
calmly. "And I bet you five to one in gloves that I tell you the name of
the man inside a week."