d had insisted on
introducing in London a few days before.

Schwartzberger, his name was (Paul had a peculiar trick of remembering
names)--the fellow was said to have made a fortune in old rags--no, it
was tinned meats--in Chicago. It was his proud boast that he started
in the business as a butcher's errand boy but a few years ago, and
now, no supper bill at the _Moulin Rouge_, no evening's play at Monte
Carlo, had ever made a material depletion in the supply of gold that
always jingled in the pockets of his loud clothes. His was the fastest
car and the gayest coloured on all the Continent, and he was alike the
hero and the easy dupe of every servant.

As the stout American came waddling uncertainly up the walk, with a
certain elephantine effort at jauntiness, he nearly collided with the
foreign lady who had crossed his path to reach the further limits of
the terrace. Not having a cautioning horn attached to his anatomy to
warn heedless trespassers from his way, the large person was forced to
give ground, but had some difficulty in veering from his course
sufficiently to avoid an accident. However, the _grande dame_ slipped
past him quickly and disappeared amid the shrubbery--but not before
her extraordinary beauty had dazzled the pork-packer's beady eyes.

He turned and stared at her.

"Gee! What a peach!" he murmured aloud, in words which came wheezing
from between thick lips. "I wonder if that's the Countess's lady
friend she spoke of."

Then, catching sight of Verdayne, and knowing him at once for the
swell English guy he had met at the Savoy, he panted up and slapped
Paul's shrinking back with his fat, white hand.

"Hullo, Verdayne! Just the man I'm looking for! I didn't know you were
in this part of the world. Hurry up with your breakfast and join me
and my friend, the Countess de Boistelle, in a spin around the lake.
Perhaps you know her already. No? That's easy arranged--she's a
particular friend of mine, and she's got a chum of her's staying here
too, I guess. Make up a foursome with us and I'll promise you this old
place won't be half slow. When it comes to making things hum, nobody's
got anything on the Countess."

"Damned bounder!" growled Paul under his breath; and aloud: "Thanks, I
have an engagement. Awfully sorry, and all that, you know." And he
rose, as if to end the interview.

"I'll bet you've got a date with that queen you were just talking to.
Verdayne, you're the foxy one. Well, I can't s