er smile was that it
was a matter of her lips and rarely of her eyes, which always
maintained the haunting sadness of their tragic depths.

"Monsieur Trevor," she repeated imitatively. "And yours, monsieur?"

"McPhail."

"Mac-Fele; _c'est assez difficile_. And yours?"

Mo guessed. "Shendish," said he.

She repeated that also, whereat Mo grinned fatuously, showing his
little yellow teeth beneath his scrubby red moustache.

"My friends call me Mo," said he.

She grasped his meaning. "Mo," she said; and she said it so funnily
and softly, and with ever so little a touch of quizzicality, that the
sentimental warrior roared with delight.

"You've got it right fust time, miss."

From her two steps' height of vantage, she looked down on the three
upturned British faces--and her eyes went calmly from one to the
other.

She turned to Doggie. "One would say, monsieur, that you were the
Three Musketeers."

"Possibly, mademoiselle," laughed Doggie. He had not felt so
light-hearted for many months. "But we lack a d'Artagnan."

"When you find him, bring him to me," said the girl.

"Mademoiselle," said Phineas gallantly, "we would not be such
imbeciles."

At that moment the voice of Toinette came from within.

"Ma'amselle Jeanne! Ma'amselle Jeanne!"

"_Oui, oui, j'y viens_," she cried. "_Bon soir, messieurs_," and she
was gone.

Doggie looked into the empty vestibule and smiled at the friendly
brandy cask. Provided it is pronounced correctly, so as to rhyme with
the English "Anne," it is a very pretty name. Doggie thought she
looked like Jeanne--a Jeanne d'Arc of this modern war.

"Yon's a very fascinating lassie," Phineas remarked soberly, as they
started on their stroll. "Did you happen to observe that all the time
she was talking so prettily she was looking at ghosts behind us?"

"Do you think so?" asked Doggie, startled.

"Man, I know it," replied Phineas.

"Ghosts be blowed!" cried Mo Shendish. "She's a bit of orl right, she is.
What I call class. Doesn't chuck 'erself at yer 'ead, like some of 'em,
and, on the other 'and, has none of yer blooming stand-orfishness. See
what I mean?" He clutched them each by an arm--he was between them.
"Look 'ere. How do you think I could pick up this blinking
lingo--quick?"

"Make violent love to Toinette and ask her to teach you. There's
nothing like it," said Doggie.

"Who's Toinette?"

"The nice old lady in the kitchen."

Mo flung his arm away. "Oh, go and bo