cars which Morgan Bennett had placed at Mrs.
Bal's service for the Edinburgh week. As for Bennett himself, he was
apparently "lying low," by her wish or his own; but I expected to see
him at the theatre that night. Of course, we were all going to turn out
in full force for "The Nelly Affair." Somerled had taken a box, he told
me, and proceeded to invite the whole party; but there also Aline had
got in ahead. During Mrs. Bal's call upon her, they had arranged that
the Vannecks and I should sit with Barrie in stalls offered by the Star.
Mrs. Bal had (she assured us fluently, before starting off in her car)
intended asking Somerled and Mrs. James too, and stalls were provided
for them. But as he had already engaged a box, she would give the seats
to the two Douglases. Perhaps he--Somerled--would have room in his box
for those nice American boys, of whom Barrie seemed so fond?

Aline was eagerly waiting for me to come back and congratulate her upon
her great success. She wanted to tell me everything; but her desire to
talk was nothing compared with my yearning to hear.

"It's all right," she began. "I've made a bargain with Mrs. Bal. I told
her you were in love with Barrie. That's the way I broke the ice, after
I'd paid her compliments and she'd sympathized about my eyes. I said I'd
keep her secret, and answer for the Vannecks, if she'd give you a chance
with Barrie."

"By Jove!" I grumbled. "You didn't mince matters between you! Anything
said about Somerled?"

"Why, I told her that the child was fancying herself in love with Ian,
and behaving rather foolishly. And I said that Ian was naturally
flattered, but that he was the last man to marry a baby like Barrie; and
if we didn't act quickly, the poor little girl might suffer. You must
have noticed, Basil, that Mrs. Bal doesn't like Ian Somerled."

"I've noticed that she takes an impish delight in thwarting him."

"That's because he once thwarted her. She admitted as much. Or, at least
she said she asked him to paint her portrait, and he did paint it. When
the picture was finished, he gave it to her, and didn't even make
himself a copy."

"Well," I replied, puzzled, "I don't see anything in that to upset her.
Even for a beauty like Mrs. Bal it's a compliment to be painted by
Somerled. And surely it was a mark of regard to make her a present of
the picture, when he can get from a thousand to five thousand pounds for
anything he chooses to do."

"Oh, you _man_," excla