," said Eric carelessly. "And, as you said, I shall only
have myself to blame if the story's not scotched here and now."

"I'll propose the King's health now," said Lord Ettrick, "and then we
can have something to smoke."

2

By the simple standard of applause, Eric achieved a success. Abandoning
his prepared speech, he followed Lord Ettrick's lead, picked up his cues
and surrendered himself to the moment. It was something of a triumph to
amuse others when he was so little amused himself.

"Not nearly long enough," said Dr. Gaisford, as Eric looked furtively at
the watch on his wrist. He was wondering how soon he could go home and
telephone to Barbara.

"Shall we go upstairs or sit here?" asked Lord Ettrick. "Manders ought
to be with us in another half-hour."

Eric remembered with consternation that he would be expected to stay at
least until midnight. There was no escaping it. Five and thirty men, his
friends and entertainers, were preparing for a long, happy session;
their chairs were turned at comfortable angles, they had shuffled and
sorted themselves into congenial groups, each was at the earliest stage
of a long cigar, and they waited on him in turn like an endless series
of deputations.

"I've discussed the nightly takings of a theatre with Ettrick," he
whispered, when Manders arrived at half-past eleven as vigorous and
high-spirited as if he had just got out of bed; "the Dardanelles
expedition with Gaisford, the plays of Synge with George Oakleigh, 'The
Bomb-Shell' with Vincent Grayle, memories of Jessie Farborough with
Deganway, 'The Bomb-Shell' with Grierson, Ibsen with Harry Greenbank,
and 'The Bomb-Shell' with Donald Butler. I'm worn out!"

"Stay a bit longer, boy," Manders begged. "I've only just come."

When at last he escaped, there was no taxi to be had, though Eric told a
waiter to keep the first that drove up. He covered half of the way to
Ryder Street at a run, threw himself on his bed and asked for the
familiar number in Berkeley Square.

After a long interval a sleepy voice said: "Yes? My dear, you _are_
late! I've rung you up again and again. I--Eric, I was afraid you were
angry with me for sulking."

"I say, Babs!" He began earnestly and had no idea how to go on. "Angry
with you? Don't be so ridiculous! I got a very sweet note from you
to-night. Thank you. And I think the speech went down all right. I say,
Babs. . . ."

"You're out of breath, sweetheart."

"I came home in rather