"No hurry," returned Somers, affably, beaming on Cassie Weldon and
meeting Ariadne Gale's receptive smile. "I'm anchored here for the
moment. Miss Weldon? Ah, yes, I've heard you sing. Voice like a
lark--like a lark."

Clearly, Somers was not much of a purveyor of small talk. I sized him
up for a lumbering oldster, who wanted to be playful but didn't quite
know how.

He had rather an austere face, yet there was a gleam in his eye that
belied the austerity. His cheeks were fat and red, his nose prominent,
and he was clean shaven, save for a thick white mustache, that drooped
slightly on either side of a full-lipped mouth. His hair was white,
his eyes dark and deep-set, and he could easily be called a handsome
man. He was surely fifty, and perhaps more. Had it not been for a
certain effusiveness in his speech, I could have liked him, but he
seemed to me to lack sincerity.

However, I am not one to judge harshly or hastily, and I met him half
way, and even helped him in his efforts at gay affability.

"You've never been here before?" I asked; "Good old Steele to bring
you to-night."

"No, never before," and he glanced around appreciatively, "but I
shall, I hope, come often. Charming little nest; charming ladies!" a
bow included those nearest.

"Yes, indeed," babbled Ariadne, "fair women and brave men."