"He IS a fine figure of a man," Deb commented, with a smile.

"I can't," yawned Mr Dalzell casually, "stand a person who eats curry
with a knife and fork."

"It was pretty tough, that curry. I expect he couldn't get it to pieces
with a spoon."

"He did not try to."

"I never noticed. I shouldn't remember to notice a little trifle like
that."

"My dear girl, it is the little trifle that marks the man."

"Oh!" said Deb. And then she sought Guthrie Carey, and brought him to
sit beside her.

"That gentleman sings well," remarked Guthrie tepidly, at the
conclusion of a finely rendered song. "I often wish I could do those
ornamental things. Unfortunately, a man who has his work--if he sticks
to it properly--gets no time to qualify. I'm afraid I shall never
shine at drawing-room tricks."

"Tell me about your work," said clever Deb, smiling behind her waving
fan.

At once she had him quite happy, talking about himself. No effort was
necessary to draw him out; that she deigned to listen to him was
enough. His struggles as boy--blue-nose boy; his tough battle for the