forgot," was a household jest in
Rhodesia, founded on a legend from home that, at a certain
supper-party, a beautiful actress had inveigled him into making her an
offer of marriage, and the ceremony had been fixed for the following
day. But, though bride and wedding-party turned up at the appointed
hour, the bridegroom never materialized. He had gone straight from the
supper-party at the Savoy to the Green Room Club and fallen into a game
of poker that lasted throughout the night and all the next day, with
the result that all memory of the proposed wedding had faded from his
mind. The lady, very much injured in her tenderest feeling
(professional and personal vanity), had sued him for a large sum of
money, which he had paid without blinking and returned to South Africa,
heart-free, to make some more.

"Did you pull in the pot?" asked Tryon, who was a poker player himself.

"No," said Druro regretfully; "hadn't time. I left the game and came
away as soon as I remembered this blessed dance."

Just then the waltz came to an end, its last notes trailing off into
nothingness and blowing away like a handful of leaves on a breeze. The
kaleidoscopic patterns sorted themselves and turned into a circle of
perambulating couples, and Gay and her partner passed the two men in
the doorway.

"Hi! I want to speak to you," said Druro, whose manners were unique,
making an imperious sign at Gay. She looked at him with eyes like
frozen violets and walked on. Druro, looking after her, observed that
she and her partner passed out of a door leading to the east veranda.

"H'm!" said he, reflective but unperturbed. Then he turned to Tryon.
"Go and get Hayes away from her, Tryon."

"That's a nice job!" commented Tryon.

"Go on, old man!" said Druro, kindly but firmly. "Tell him there's a
man in the bar wants to see him on a matter of life and death. He'll
thank you for it afterward."

Tryon went grumbling through the ballroom, and Druro stepped back out
of the front hall into the street and made a circuit of the hotel. By
the time he had reached the east veranda, Tryon was gently leading away
the unresisting Hayes, and a rose-leaf shoe, visible between two pots
of giant croton, guided the stalker to his prey. He sat down on a seat
beside her.

"Did you mean it when you cut me in that brutal manner just now--or was
it an accident?" he asked reproachfully.

Gay did not answer or stir. His manner changed.

"Gay, I am mo