same to me if she never came back. None of the wishy-washy
tittle-tattle interested me, in fact. There was only one little
six-line paragraph that really caught me. On Friday night (that is to
say, the night of my adventures in Blankshire), the Hunt Club was to
give a charity masquerade dance. This grasped my adventurous spirit by
the throat and refused to let go.

The atmosphere surrounding the paragraph was spirituous with
enchantment. There was a genuine novelty about this dance. Two packs
of playing-cards had been sent out as tickets; one pack to the ladies
and one to the gentlemen. Charming idea, wasn't it? These cards were
to be shown at the door, together with ten dollars, but were to be
retained by the recipients till two o'clock (supper-time), at which
moment everybody was to unmask and take his partner, who held the
corresponding card, in to supper. Its newness strongly appealed to me.
I found myself reading the paragraph over and over.

By Jove, what an inspiration!

I knew the Blankshire Hunt Club, with its colonial architecture, its
great ball-room, its quaint fireplaces, its stables and sheds, and the
fame of its chef. It was one of those great country clubs that keep
open house the year round. It stood back from the sea about four miles
and was within five miles of the village. There was a fine course
inland, a cross-country going of not less than twenty miles, a
shooting-box, and excellent golf-links. In the winter it was cozy; in
the summer it was ideal.

I was intimately acquainted with the club's M. F. H., Teddy Hamilton.
We had done the Paris-Berlin run in my racing-car the summer before.