and peered at the wine list, as the chatter of happy voices, the
animated faces of lovely women and the eager hum of social life
around, recalled him to that world from which he contemplated an
unceremonious exit. It was in a deference to old habit, and the "qu
en dira't on," that he ordered a half bottle of excellent Chambertin
and then proceeded to dine with all the scrupulous punctilio of
the old happy mess days.

Something of defiance seemed to steal back into his veins with the
generous warmth of the wine--a touch of the old gallant spirit with
which he had faced a hard world, since the unfortunate incident
which had abruptly terminated his connection with "The Widow's"
Service. His eye swept carelessly over the international detachment
seated at the splendid table. Lively and chattering as they were,
it was a human Sahara to him. He easily recognized the "Ten-Pounder"
element of wandering Britons; poor, anxious-eyed beings grudgingly
furloughed from shop and desk, and now sternly determined to descend
at Charing Cross without breaking into the few reserve sovereigns.
Serious-looking women, clad in many colors, and stolid cockneys,
hostile to all foreign innovation, met his eye. He sighed as he
cast his social net and drew up nothing.

There was a vacant chair at his left. Very shortly, without turning
his eyes, he was made aware of the proximity of a woman, young,
evidently a continental, from her softly murmured French.

"Houbigant's Forest Violets," he murmured. "She is at least
semi-civilized!" He was dreaming of the far off lotos land which
he had left, as he felt the rebellious protest of his young blood
and the defiant spirit awaked by the mechanical luxury of the