Why, Horace," burst in energetic little Blanche, "I have told you for
the last month that he was coming down for Christmas."

"Did you, my dear child?" said Cos. "'Pon my life I forgot it. Miss St.
Aubyn, my man Cleante (he's the handiest dog--he once belonged to the
Duc d'Aumale) has just discovered something quite new--there's no
perfume like it; he calls it 'Fleurs des Tilleuls,' and the best of it
is, nobody can have it. If you'll allow me----"

"Everybody seems to make it their duty to forget Sydney," muttered
Blanche, as the Baronet murmured the rest of his speech inaudibly.

"Never mind, petite; I can bear it," laughed Vivian, leaning against the
mantelpiece with that look of quiet strength characteristic of both his
mind and body.

Cecil overheard the whisper, and flushed a quick look at him; then
turning to Cossetting, talked over the "Fleurs des Tilleuls" as if her
whole mind was absorbed in _bouquet_.

When dinner was announced, Vivian troubled himself, however, to give his
arm to Cecil, and, tossing his head back in the direction of the
turquoise eyes, said to the discomfited Horace, "You sing, don't you,
Cosset? Miss Screechington will bore you less than she would me."

"Is it, then, because I 'bore you less' that you do me the honor?" asked
Cecil, quickly.

"Yes," said Syd, calmly; "or, rather, to put it more courteously, you
amuse me more."

"Monseigneur! je vous remercie," said Cecil, her long almond eyes
sparkling dangerously. "You promote me to the same rank with an opera, a
hookah, a rat-hunt, and a French novel?"

"And," Vivian went on tranquilly, "I dare say I shall amuse _you_ better
than that poor little fool with his lisp and his talk of the toilet, and
his hands that never pulled in a thorough-bred or aided a rowing match."

"Oh, we're not in the Iliad and Odyssey days to deify physical
strength," said Cecil, who secretly adored it, as all women do; "nor yet
among the Pawnees to reverence a man according to his scalps. Though Sir
Horace may not have followed your example and jeopardised his life on
every possible occasion, he is very handsome, and can be very
agreeable."

"Is it possible you can endure that fop?" said Vivian, quickly.

"Certainly. Why not?"

The Colonel stroked his moustache contemptuously. "I should have fancied
you more difficile, that is all; but Cos is, as you say, good-looking,
and very well off. I wish----"

"What? That you were 'less bored?'"

"That I a