same," she continued, laying her hand upon his arm, "I think
that you are a rank extremist."

He shook his head.

"I don't understand," he said.

"Shall I teach you?" she whispered.

He flung her hand away.

"No!" he said savagely.

She sighed.

"I am afraid you had better go away," she said.

As he closed the door he fancied that he heard a sob. But it might have
been only fancy.

CHAPTER III

MONSIEUR S'AMUSE

"To-night," young Davenant declared, with something which was
suspiciously like a yawn, "I really think that we must chuck it just a
little earlier. Shall we say that we leave here at two, and get back to
the hotel?"

Mademoiselle Rosine pouted, but said nothing. The young lady from
America tried to take Macheson's hand.

"Yes!" she murmured. "Do let's! I'm dead tired."

She whispered something in Macheson's ear which he affected not to hear.
He leaned back in his cushioned seat and laughed.

"What, go home without seeing Francois!" he exclaimed. "He's keeping the
corner table for us, and we're all going to dance the Maxixe with the
little Russian girl."

"We could telephone," Davenant suggested. "Do you know that we haven't
been to bed before six one morning since we arrived in Paris?"

"Well, isn't that what we came for?" Macheson exclaimed. "We can go to
bed at half-past twelve in London. Maitre d'hotel, the wine! My friends
are getting sleepy. What's become of the music? Tell our friend
there--ah! Monsieur Henri!"

He beckoned to the leader of the orchestra, who came up bowing, with his
violin under his arm.

"Monsieur Henri, my friends are '_triste_,'" he explained. "They say
there is no music here, no life. They speak of going home to bed. Look
at mademoiselle here! She yawns! We did not come to Paris to yawn.
Something of the liveliest. You understand? Perhaps mademoiselle there
will dance."

"Parfaitement, monsieur."

The man bowed himself away, with a twenty-franc piece in the palm of his
hand. The orchestra began a gay two-step. Macheson, starting up, passed
his arm round the waist of a little fair-haired Parisienne just
arriving. She threw her gold satchel on to a table, and they danced
round the room. Davenant watched them with unwilling admiration.

"Well, Macheson's a fair knockout," he declared. "I'm hanged if he can
keep still for five minutes. And when I knew him at Oxford, he was one
of the most studious chaps in the college. Gad! he's dancing with
anoth