care much for stories," said Barker; "but that is not the
question. It was evidently a put-up job."

"Meaning a preconcerted arrangement," said the Duke. "Yes. It was
arranged between them some time yesterday. But I never left her alone
until she said she was going to lie down."

"And I never left him until you told me she had gone to bed."

"She did not lie down, then," said the Duke.

"Then she lied up and down," said Barker, savagely playful.

"Ladies do not lie," said the Duke, who did not like the word, and
refused to laugh.

"Of course. And you and I are a couple of idiots, and we have been
protecting her when she did not want to be protected. And she will hate
us for ever after. I am disgusted. I will drown my cares in drink. Will
you please ring the bell?"

"You had better drink apollinaris. Grog will go to your head. I never
saw you so angry." The Duke pressed the electric button.

"I loathe to drink of the water," said Barker, tearing off the end of a
cigar with his teeth. The Duke had seen a man in Egypt who bit off the
heads of black snakes, and he thought of him at that moment. The steward
appeared, and when the arrangements were made, the ocean in which Barker
proposed to drown his cares was found to consist of a small glass of a
very diluted concoction of champagne, bitters, limes, and soda water.
The Duke had some, and thought it very good.

"It is not a question of language," said Barker, returning to the
conversation. "They eluded us and met. That is all."

"By her wish, apparently," said the other.

"We must arrange a plan of action," said Barker.

"Why? If she has not refused him, it is all right. We have nothing more
to do with it. Let them go their own way."

"You are an old friend of the Countess's, are you not?" asked the
American. "Yes--very well, would you like to see her married to
Claudius?"

"Upon my word," said the Duke, "I cannot see that I have anything to say
about it. But since you ask me, I see no possible objection. He is a
gentleman--has money, heaps of it--if she likes him, let her marry him
if she pleases. It is very proper that she should marry again; she has
no children, and the Russian estates are gone to the next heir. I only
wanted to save her from any inconvenience. I did not want Claudius to be
hanging after her, if she did not want him. She does. There is an end of
it." O glorious English Common Sense! What a fine thing you are when
anybody gets you by the