say that there is nothing--er----"

"Of course not," Macheson interrupted.

"Hasn't she----"

"Oh! shut up," Macheson exclaimed. "Here they come."

Ella passed her arm through his. Mademoiselle Rosine had told her while
she stood on tiptoe and dabbed at her cheeks with a powder-puff, that
she was too cold. The Messieurs Anglais were often so difficult. They
needed encouragement, so very much encouragement. Then there were more
confidences, and Madame Rosine was very much astonished. What sort of a
man was this Monsieur Macheson, yet so gallant, so gay! She promised
herself that she would watch him.

"We will drive up together, you and I," Ella whispered in his ear, but
Macheson only laughed.

"I've hired a motor car for the night," he said. "In you get! I'm going
to sit in front with the chauffeur and sing."

"You will do nothing of the sort," Ella declared, almost sharply. "You
will come inside with us."

"Anywhere, anyhow," he answered. "To the little hell at the top of the
hill, Jean, and drive fast," he directed. "Jove! it's two o'clock! Hurry
up, Davenant. We shall have no time there at all."

There was barely room for four. Mademoiselle Rosine perched herself
daintily on Davenant's knee. Ella tried to draw Macheson into her arms,
but he sank on to the floor, and sat with his hands round his knees
singing a French music-hall song of the moment. They shouted to him to
leave off, but he only sang the louder. Then, in a block, he sprang from
the car, seized the whole stock of a pavement flower-seller, and, paying
her magnificently, emptied them through the window of the car into the
girls' laps, and turning round as suddenly--disappeared.

"He's mad--quite mad," Ella declared, with a sigh. "I don't believe we
shall see him again to-night."

Nevertheless, he was on the pavement outside the _Rat Mort_ awaiting
them, chaffing the commissionaire. He threw open the door and welcomed
them.

"They are turning people away here," he declared. "Heaps of fun going
on! All the artistes from the Circus are here, and a party of Spaniards.
Francois has kept our table. Come along."

Ella hung on to him as they climbed the narrow, shabby staircase.

"Say," she pleaded in his ear, "don't you want to be a little nicer to
me to-night?"

"Command me," he answered. "I am in a most amenable temper."

"Sit with me instead of wandering round so. You don't want to talk to
every pretty girl, do you?"

He laughed.

"Why