Aleck's, Mr. Chamberlain rose to depart. He was an Englishman, a
serious, heavy gentleman, very loyal to old friends and very slow in
making new ones. He made an engagement to dine with Aleck on the
following evening, and, as he went out, threw back to the remaining
gentlemen an offer of seats in his machine.

"I ought to go," said Jones; "but if Van Camp will stay, I will. That
is," he added with belated punctiliousness, "if the ladies will permit?"

"Thank you, Chamberlain, I'm walking," drawled Aleck; then turning to the
company with his cheerful grin he stated quite impersonally: "I was
thinking of staying long enough to put one question--er, a matter of some
little importance--to Miss Reynier. When she gives me the desired
information, I shall go."

"Me, too," chirped Mr. Lloyd-Jones. "I came expressly to talk over that
plan of building up friendly adjoining estates out in Idaho; sort of
private shooting and hunting park, you know. And I haven't had a minute
to say a word." Jones suddenly began to feel himself aggrieved. As the
door closed after Chamberlain, Mélanie motioned them back to their seats.

"It's not so very late," she said easily. "Come back and make yourselves
comfortable, and I'll listen to both of you," she said with a demure
little devil in her eye. "I haven't seen you for ages, and I don't know
when the good moment will come again." She included the two men in a
friendly smile, waved a hand toward the waiting chairs, and adjusted a
light shawl over the shoulders of Madame Reynier.

But Aleck by this time had the bit in his teeth and would not be coaxed.
His ordinarily cool eye rested wrathfully on the broad shoulders of Mr.