. There were ices. Nellie, not being
permitted champagne, took her revenge in ice. Denry had found an
opportunity to relate to her the history of the Chocolate Remedy. She
said, "How wonderful you are!" And he said it was she who was wonderful.
Denry gave no information about the Chocolate Remedy to her father.
Neither did she. As for Ruth, indubitably she was responsible for the
social success of the dinner. She seemed to have the habit of these
affairs. She it was who loosed tongues. Nevertheless, Denry saw her now
with different eyes, and it appeared incredible to him that he had once
mistaken her for the jewel of the world.

At the end of the dinner Councillor Rhys-Jones produced a sensation by
rising to propose the health of their host. He referred to the superb
heroism of England's lifeboatmen, and in the name of the Institution
thanked Denry for the fifty-three pounds which Denry's public had
contributed to the funds. He said it was a noble contribution and that
Denry was a philanthropist. And he called on Councillor Cotterill to
second the toast. Which Councillor Cotterill did, in good set terms, the
result of long habit. And Denry stammered that he was much obliged, and
that really it was nothing.

But when the toasting was finished, Councillor Cotterill lapsed somewhat
into a patronising irony, as if he were jealous of a youthful success.
And he did not stop at "young man." He addressed Denry grandiosely as
"my boy."

"This lifeboat--it was just an idea, my boy, just an idea," he said.

"Yes," said Denry, "but I thought of it."

"The question is," said the Councillor, "can you think of any more ideas
as good?"

"Well," said Denry, "can _you_?"

With reluctance they left the luxury of the private dining-room, and
Denry surreptitiously paid the bill with a pile of sovereigns, and
Councillor Rhys-Jones parted from them with lively grief. The other five
walked in a row along the Parade in the moonlight. And when they arrived
in front of Craig-y-don, and the Cotterills were entering, Ruth, who
loitered behind, said to Denry in a liquid voice:

"I don't feel a bit like going to sleep. I suppose you wouldn't care for
a stroll?"

"Well------"

"I daresay you're very tired," she said.

"No," he replied, "it's this moonlight I'm afraid of."

And their eyes met under the door-lamp, and Ruth wished him pleasant
dreams and vanished. It was exceedingly subtle.

VII

The next afternoon the Cotterills and