ost shrewdly.

"What did you see me for?" he asked, suddenly. "You're bored to death
trying to keep up a conversation."

Lord Arranmore laughed.

"Upon my word, I don't know, Hennibul," he answered. "For the same old
reason, I suppose. One must see some one, do something. I thought that
you might amuse me."

"And I've failed," Hennibul declared, smiling. "Come to supper at the
Savoy to-night. The two new American girls from the Lyric and St. John
Lyttleton are to be there. Moderately respectable, I believe, but a bit
noisy perhaps."

Arranmore shook his head.

"You're a good fellow, Hennibul," he said, "but I'm too old for that
sort of thing."

Hennibul rose to his feet.

"Well," he said, "I've kept the best piece of advice till last because I
want you to think of it. Marry!"

Lord Arranmore did not smile. He did not immediately reply.

"You are a bachelor!" he remarked.

"I am a man of a different disposition," Hennibul answered. "I find
pleasure in everything--everything amuses me. My work is fascinating,
my playtime is never big enough. I really don't know where a wife
would come in. However, if ever I did get a bit hipped, find myself
in your position, for instance, I can promise you that I'd take my own
medicine. I've thought of it more than once lately."

"Perhaps by that time," Lord Arranmore said, "the woman whom you wanted
to marry wouldn't have you."

Hennibul looked serious for a moment. A new idea had occurred to him.

"One must take one's chances!" he said.

"You are a philosopher," Arranmore declared. "Will you have some
tea--or a whisky-and-soda?"

"Neither, thanks. In an abortive attempt to preserve my youth I neither
take tea nor drinks between meals. I will have one of your excellent
cigarettes and get round to the club. Why, this is Enton over again,
for here comes Molyneux."

The Hon. Sydney Molyneux shook hands with both of them in somewhat
dreary fashion, and embarked upon a few disjointed remarks. Hennibul
took his leave, and Arranmore yawned openly.

"What is the matter with you, Sydney?" he asked. "You are duller than
ever. I am positively not going to sit here and mumble about the
weather. How are the Carooms? Have you heard from them lately?"

"They are up in Yorkshire," Molyneux announced, "staying with the
Pryce-Powells. I believe they're all right. I'm beastly fit myself,
but I had a bit of a facer last week. I--er--I wanted to ask you a
question.

"Well?"

"Ab