t in
stirring him up, grinned at him sideways.

"No man is fit for decent society until he's lost all his illusions," he
said, "particularly concerning women."

"Some of us have been fools enough to lose our illusions," retorted
Wayward sharply, "but you never had any, Malcourt; and that's no
compliment from me to you."

Portlaw chuckled. "We never lose illusions; we mislay 'em," he
suggested; "and then we are pretty careful to mislay only that
particular illusion which inconveniences us." He jerked his heavy head
in Malcourt's direction. "Nobody clings more frantically to illusions
than your unbaked cynic; Louis, you're not nearly such a devil of a
fellow as you imagine you are."

Malcourt smiled easily and looked out over the waves.

"Cynicism is old-fashioned," he said; "dogma is up to date. Credo! I
believe in a personal devil, virtuous maidens in bowers, and rosewood
furniture. As for illusions I cherish as many as you do!" He turned with
subtle impudence to Wayward. "And the world is littered with the
shattered fragments."

"It's littered with pups, too," observed Wayward, turning on his heel.
And he walked away, limping, his white mess jacket a pale spot in the
gloom.

Malcourt looked after him; an edge of teeth glimmering beneath his full
upper lip.

"It might be more logical if he'd cut out his alcohol before he starts
in as a gouty marine missionary," he observed. "Last night he sat there
looking like a superannuated cavalry colonel in spectacles, neuritis
twitching his entire left side, unable to light his own cigar; and there
he sat and rambled on and on about innate purity and American
womanhood."

He turned abruptly as a steward stepped up bearing a decanter and tray
of glasses.

Portlaw helped himself, grumbling under his breath that he meant to cut
out this sort of thing and set Wayward an example.

Malcourt lifted his glass gaily:

"Our wives and sweethearts; may they never meet!"

They set back their empty glasses; Portlaw started to move away, still
muttering about the folly of self-indulgence; but the other detained
him.

"Wayward took it out of me in 'Preference' this morning while Garry was
out courting. I'd better liquidate to-night, hadn't I, Billy?"

"Certainly," said Portlaw.

The other shook his head. "I'll get it all back at Miami, of course. In
the mean time--if you don't mind letting me have enough to square
things--"

Portlaw hesitated, balancing his bulk uneasily