ls."

"And a woman as old as she looks!" laughed the other.

"Now, I don't feel old, and I am fifty-one."

The man with the beard shot an admiring glance across the tabouret. "You
are extraordinarily well preserved, sir. You do not seem older than I, and
I am but forty."

"The trouble is, over here you play cards all night in stuffy rooms and
eat too many sauces." Harrigan had read this somewhere, and he was pleased
to think that he could recall it so fittingly.

"Agreed. You Americans are getting out in the open more than any other
white people."

"Wonder how he guessed I was from the States?" Aloud, Harrigan said: "You
don't look as though you'd grow any older in the next ten years."

"That depends." The bearded man sighed and lighted a fresh cigarette.
"There's a beautiful young woman," with an indicative gesture toward the
ballroom.

Harrigan expanded. It was Nora, dancing with the Barone.

"She's the most beautiful young woman in the world," enthusiastically.

"Ah, you know her?" interestedly.

"I am her father!"--as Louis XIV might have said, "I am the State."

The bearded man smiled. "Sir, I congratulate you both."

Courtlandt loomed in the doorway. "Comfortable?"

"Perfectly. Good cigar, comfortable chair, fine view."

The duke eyed Courtlandt through the pall of smoke which he had
purposefully blown forth. He questioned, rather amusedly, what would have
happened had he gone down to the main hall that night in Paris? Among the
few things he admired was a well-built handsome man. Courtlandt on his
part pretended that he did not see.

"You'll find the claret and champagne punches in the hall," suggested
Courtlandt.

"Not for mine! Run away and dance."

"Good-by, then." Courtlandt vanished.

"There's a fine chap. Edward Courtlandt, the American millionaire." It was
not possible for Harrigan to omit this awe-compelling elaboration.

"Edward Courtlandt." The stranger stretched his legs. "I have heard of
him. Something of a hunter."

"One of the keenest."

"There is no half-way with your rich American: either his money ruins him
or he runs away from it."

"There's a stunner," exclaimed Harrigan. "Wonder how she got here?"

"To which lady do you refer?"

"The one in scarlet. She is Flora Desimone. She and my daughter sing
together sometimes. Of course you have heard of Eleonora da Toscana;
that's my daughter's stage name. The two are not on very good terms,
naturally."

"Quite naturall