t rise to the height of embarrassment, but
something rippled for all that.

A cigar Mr. Pellew was lighting required unusual and special attention.
It had a mission, that cigar. It had to gloss over a slight flush on its
smoker's cheeks, and to take the edge off the abruptness with which he
said,--"Oh, gammon!" as he threw a Vesuvian away.

He picked up the lost thread at the point of his own indiscreet
excursion into young-manthropology--his own word when he apologized for
it. "Anyhow," said he, "it struck me that our friend upstairs was very
hard hit. He made such a parade of his complete independence. Of course,
I'm not much of a judge of such matters. Not my line. I understand that
he has been prorogued--I mean his departure has. He's to try his luck at
coming downstairs this evening after feeding-time. He funks finding the
way to his mouth in public. Don't wonder--poor chap!"

Then this lady had a fit of contrition about the way in which she had
been gossiping, and tried to back out. She had the loathsome meanness to
pretend that she herself had been entirely passive, a mere listener to
an indiscreet and fanciful companion. "What gossips you men are!" said
she, rushing the position boldly. "Fancy cooking up a romance about this
Mr. Torrens and Gwen, when they've hardly so much as," she had nearly
said, "set eyes on each other"; but revised it in time for press. It
worked out "when she has really only just set eyes on him, and chatted
half an hour."

Mr. Pellew's indignation found its way through a stammer which expressed
the struggle of courtesy against denunciation. "Come--hang it all!" said
he. "It wasn't _my_ romance.... Oh, well, perhaps it wasn't yours
either. Only--play fair, Miss Dickenson. Six of the one and half a dozen
of the other! Confess up!"

The lady assumed the tone of Tranquillity soothing Petulance. "Never
mind, Mr. Pellew!" she said. "You needn't lie awake about it. It doesn't
really matter, you know.... _Have_ you got the right time? Because I
have to be ready at half-past eleven to drive with Philippa. I
promised.... What!--a quarter past? I must run." She looked back to
reassure possible perturbation. "It really does _not_ matter between
_us_," said she, and vanished down the avenue.

The Hon. Percival Pellew walked slowly in the opposite direction in a
brown study, leaving his thumbs in his armholes, and playing _la ci
darem_ with his fingers on his waistcoat. He played it twice or thri