e human beast," observed Malcourt. "Hope is a
bird, Porty, old chap--"

"Hope is a squab," growled Portlaw, swallowing vast quantities of
claret, "all squashy and full of pin-feathers. That's what hope is. It
needs a thorough roasting, and it's getting it."

"Exquisite metaphor," mused Malcourt, gazing affably at the rather blond
girl who crumbled her bread and looked occasionally and blankly at him,
occasionally and affectionately at the French count, her escort, who was
consuming lobster with characteristic Gallic thoroughness and abandon.

"The world," quoted Malcourt, "is so full of a number of things. You're
one of 'em, Portlaw; I'm several.... Well, if you're going North I'd
better begin to get ready."

"What have you got to do?"

"One or two friends of mine who preside in the Temple of Chance yonder.
Oh, don't assume that babyish pout! I've won enough back to keep going
for the balance of the time we remain."

Portlaw, pleased and relieved, finished his claret.

"You've a few ladies to take leave of, also," he said briskly.

"Really, Portlaw!"--in gentle admonition.

"Haw! Haw!" roared Portlaw, startling the entire cafe; "you'd better get
busy. There'll be a run on the bank. There'll be a waiting line before
Malcourt & Co. opens for business, each fair penitent with her little
I.O.U. to be cashed! Haw! Haw! Sad dog! Bad dog! The many-sided
Malcourt! Come on; I've got a motor across the--"

"And I've an appointment with several superfluous people and a girl,"
said Malcourt drily. Then he glanced at the blond companion of the count
who continued crumbling bread between her brilliantly ringed fingers as
though she had never before seen Louis Malcourt. The price of diamonds
varies. Sometimes it is merely fastidious observance of convention and a
sensitive escort. It all depends on the world one inhabits; it does
indeed.

CHAPTER XIV

STRATEGY

An hour or two later that afternoon Wayward and Constance Palliser,
Gussie Vetchen, and Livingston Cuyp gazed with variously mingled
sentiments upon the torpid saurians belonging to one Alligator Joe in an
enclosure rather remote from the hotel.

Vetchen bestowed largess upon the small, freckled boy attendant; and his
distinguished disapproval upon the largest lady-crocodile which, with
interlocked but grinning jaws, slumbered under a vertical sun in
monochromatic majesty.

"One perpetual and gigantic simper," he said, disgusted.

"Rather undignifie