inably drunk--for I miss
the point--"

"You accuse yourself unjustly."

"Do I? Well, I have certainly drunk a deal more wine than is good for
me, and it will be revenged to-morrow. As a rule,"--he glanced around
at his fellow-topers--"I pride myself that in head and legs I am
inexpugnable. We all have our gifts; and i' faith until a moment ago I
was patting myself on the back for owning this one."

"And why, Mr. Langton?"

"On the thought, Mistress Josselin, that I had cut out the frigate, as
our tars say, and towed the prize to moorings before the others could
fire a gun."

"I had hoped," she murmured, and bent her eyes on the wine-bubbles
winking against the rim of her glass, "you did it in simple kindness."

"Well," he owned slowly, "and so I did. This belittling of good
intentions, small enough to begin with, is a cursed habit, and I'll
renounce it for once. It was little--it was nothing; yet behold me
eager to be thanked."

"I thank you." She fingered the stem of the glass, not lifting her
eyes. "But you have belittled me, too. I read it in books, and here on
the threshold, as I step outside of books, you meet me with it. We
women are always, it seems, poor ships, beating the seas, fleeing
capture; and our tackle, our bravery--" She broke off, and sat musing,
while her fingers played with the base of the glass.

"I take back my metaphors, Miss Josselin. I admit myself no buccaneer,
but a simple ass who for once pricked ears on an honest impulse."

"That is better. But hush! Mr. Manley, yonder, is preparing to sing."

Mr. Manley, a young protege of the Collector's, had a streak of genius
as an architect and several lesser gifts, among them a propensity for
borrowing and a flexible tenor voice. He trolled an old song, slightly
adapted--

"Here's a health unto Sir Oliver,
With a fal-la-la, lala-la-la;
Confusion to his enemies,
With a fa-la-la, lala-la-la;
And he that will not drink his health,
I wish him neither wit nor wealth,
Nor yet a rope to hang himself--
With a fa-la-la, lala-la-la."

The effort was applauded. Above the applause the bull voice of Mr. Silk
shouted,--

"But Miss Josselin has not drunk it yet! Langton monopolises her.
Miss Josselin! What has Miss Josselin to say?"

The cry was taken up. "Miss Josselin! Miss Josselin!"

Batty Langton arose, glass in hand. "Is it a toast, gentlemen?"
He glanced at Sir Oliver, who