er girl now--look, he's drinking champagne out of her glass.
Shouldn't stand it, Ella."

Ella was watching him. Her eyes were very bright, and there was more
colour than usual in her cheeks.

"It's nothing to me what Mr. Macheson does," she said, with a catch in
her voice. "I don't understand him a bit. I think he's mad."

Mademoiselle Rosine leaned across and whispered in her ear. Ella shook
her head.

"You see--it is any girl with him," she said. "He dances with them, pays
their bills--see, he pays for Annette there, and away he goes--laughing.
You see it is so with them, too. He has finished with them now. He comes
back to us. Guess I'm not sure I want him."

Nevertheless she moved her skirts and made room for him by her side.
Macheson came up out of breath, and poured himself out a glass of wine.

"What a time they are serving supper!" he exclaimed.

Davenant groaned.

"My dear fellow," he exclaimed, "remember our dinner at Lesueur's. You
can't be hungry!"

"But I am," Macheson declared. "What are we here for but to eat and
drink and enjoy ourselves? Jove! this is good champagne! Mademoiselle
Rosine!"

He raised his glass and bowed. Mademoiselle Rosine laughed at him out of
her big black eyes. He was rather a fascinating figure, this tall,
good-looking young Englishman, who spoke French so perfectly and danced
so well.

"I would make you come and sit by me, Monsieur Macheson," she declared,
"but Ella would be jealous."

"What about me?" Davenant exclaimed.

"Oh! la, la!" she answered, pinching his arm.

"I'm sure I don't mind," Ella declared. "I guess we're all free to talk
to whom we please."

Macheson drew up a chair and sat opposite to them.

"I choose to look at you both," he said, banging the table with his
knife. "Garcon, we did not come here to eat your flowers or your
immaculate tablecloth. We ordered supper half an hour ago. Good! It
arrives."

No one but Macheson seemed to have much appetite. He ate and he drank,
and he talked almost alone. He ordered another bottle of wine, and the
tongues of the others became a little looser. The music was going now
all the time, and many couples were dancing. The fair-haired girl,
dancing with an older woman, touched him on the shoulder as she passed,
and laughed into his face.

"There is no one," she murmured, "who dances like monsieur."

He sprang up from his seat and whirled her round the room. She leaned
against his arm and whispered in his