The tantalizing witch lifted the youth's glass to his lips and let
him drink, as a mother helps a thirsty child. "_Bebe!_" she laughed
endearingly.

As the lovely Helene pronounced that word, Lady Mount-Rhyswicke was
leaning forward to replace Mellin's empty glass upon the table.

"I don't care whether you're a widow or not!" he shouted furiously. And
he resoundingly kissed her massive shoulder.

There was a wild shout of laughter; even the imperturbable Sneyd (who
had continued to win steadily) wiped tears from his eyes, and Madame
de Vaurigard gave way to intermittent hysteria throughout the ensuing
half-hour.

For a time Mellin sat grimly observing this inexplicable merriment with
a cold smile.

"Laugh on!" he commanded with bitter satire, some ten minutes after play
had been resumed--and was instantly obeyed.

Whereupon his mood underwent another change, and he became convinced
that the world was a warm and kindly place, where it was good to live.
He forgot that he was jealous of Cooley and angry with the Countess; he
liked everybody again, especially Lady Mount-Rhyswicke. "Won't you
sit farther forward?" he begged her earnestly; "so that I can see your
beautiful golden hair?"

He heard but dimly the spasmodic uproar that followed. "Laugh on!" he
repeated with a swoop of his arm. "I don't care! Don't you care either,