time," suggested the Lady Alexandra, "that some of you came
upstairs?"

"I was thinking myself," explained Joey, the host, with a grim smile, "it
was about time that I went out and drowned myself. The canal is handy."

"Put it off till to-morrow," Tommy advised him. "I have asked her
ladyship to give me a lift home, and she has promised to do so. She is
evidently a woman with a sense of humour. Wait till after I have had a
talk with her."

Six men, whispering at the same time, were prepared with advice; but
Tommy was not taking advice.

"Come upstairs, all of you," insisted Tommy, "and make yourselves
agreeable. She's going in a quarter of an hour."

Six silent men, the host leading, the two husbands bringing up the rear,
ascended the stairs, each with the sensation of being twice his usual
weight. Six silent men entered the drawing-room and sat down on chairs.
Six silent men tried to think of something interesting to say.

Miss Ramsbotham--it was that or hysterics, as she afterwards
explained--stifling a sob, opened the piano. But the only thing she
could remember was "Champagne Charlie is my Name," a song then popular in
the halls. Five men, when she had finished, begged her to go on. Miss
Ramsbotham, speaking in a shrill falsetto, explained it was the only tune
she knew. Four of them begged her to play it again. Miss Ramsbotham
played it a second time with involuntary variations.

The Lady Mary's carriage was announced by the imperturbable Willis. The
party, with the exception of the Lady Mary and the hostess, suppressed
with difficulty an inclination to burst into a cheer. The Lady Mary
thanked Mrs. Loveredge for a most interesting evening, and beckoned Tommy
to accompany her. With her disappearance, a wild hilarity, uncanny in
its suddenness, took possession of the remaining guests.

A few days later, the Lady Mary's carriage again drew up before the
little house in Regent's Park. Mrs. Loveredge, fortunately, was at home.
The carriage remained waiting for quite a long time. Mrs. Loveredge,
after it was gone, locked herself in her own room. The under-housemaid
reported to the kitchen that, passing the door, she had detected sounds
indicative of strong emotion.

Through what ordeal Joseph Loveredge passed was never known. For a few
weeks the Autolycus Club missed him. Then gradually, as aided by Time
they have a habit of doing, things righted themselves. Joseph Loveredge
received his old