within speaking distance of him, six told him that he was wet. The
other nine asked him if he had fallen.

* * * * *

Her name was Vaughan, and she was visiting Marvis Bay in company with
an aunt. So much George ascertained from the management of the hotel.
Later, after dinner, meeting both ladies on the esplanade, he gleaned
further information--to wit, that her first name was Mary, that her
aunt was glad to make his acquaintance, liked Marvis Bay but preferred
Trouville, and thought it was getting a little chilly and would go
indoors.

The elimination of the third factor had a restorative effect upon
George's conversation, which had begun to languish. In feminine society
as a rule he was apt to be constrained, but with Mary Vaughan it was
different. Within a couple of minutes he was pouring out his troubles.
The cue-withholding leading lady, the stick-like Mifflin, the funereal
comedian--up they all came, and she, gently sympathetic, was
endeavouring, not without success, to prove to him that things were not
so bad as they seemed.

'It's sure to be all right on the night,' she said.

How rare is the combination of beauty and intelligence! George thought
he had never heard such a clear-headed, well-expressed remark.

'I suppose it will,' he said, 'but they were very bad when I left.
Mifflin, for instance. He seems to think Nature intended him for a
Napoleon of Advertising. He has a bee in his bonnet about booming the