VI

From the cool, white, slatted-shuttered house in Peixoes, rented by

Lord Fordingbridge through the Embassy, Vingie launched her attack on

this new, sun-baked indolent world where time stood still and the

fretfulness of a more northerly race seemed impertinence. Sir

Charles, blending with his new atmosphere through the habits of a

lifetime, went forth to call upon Señor Alphonso del Sol. Vingie

sent messages to one Henry Carter, who did the bidding of Mr.

Berriman in those regions, and Jim Andaside, in the Hotel Nacional,

where he dwelt, put Pete Hannen to the question.

"May you live a thousand years, Señor," implored the president,

settling deeper into his chair and folding his hands upon that

portliness time had brought him. "Welcome to our poor capital!"

Sir Charles exhaled the smoke of an excellent cigar. They were both

much of an age, philosophic, light-hearted elderly gentlemen.

"It is thirty years since I stayed here last," he said reminiscently.

"Señorita Tortola was dancing at the Alcazar, and there was a

wonderful vintage, I remember."

"Yes, yes, I too remember," sighed the president. "Her hair came

below her knees and you could span her ankle with your finger and

thumb. There are no women like her nowadays, Señor, and the wine is

not what it used to be. But the women are worse than the wine. I

have a daughter of whom I understand nothing whatever."

"Dear, dear!" murmured Sir Charles sympathetically. "Every one says

how beautiful and accomplished she is. We--that is, my ward and

myself, were hoping to be honored with your company at dinner."

"I am overwhelmed!" declared the president. "But tell me, Sir

Charles, are the women of your country as lovely as they are said to

be, and what is the wine like?"

Over long, iced lemon squashes in her cool white house, Vingie bound

Mr. Carter to the chariot wheels of her young charms. She outlined

the unfortunate predicament of Jim Andaside, and Mr. Carter shook his

head.

"I heard as much," he said sorrowfully, "but there's another

complication since then. Somebody named Pink, Hildebrand Pink, has

turned up with a car he calls the Demon Six. He rather splashes

himself about, and candidly, he gets away with these Iberians. The

commercial element has gone crazy over him, and they'll certainly

approach the president and try to get this contract away from Mr.

Andaside. I don't think you've arrived a minute too soon, but of

course, any one with your personality, Miss Lauriston----" He paused

and the pause vibrated with eloquence. "No people are more sensitive

to feminine personality than the Iberians."

Pete Hannen, a thin, bitter little dark man, sat under the cafe

awning, eyed his Iberian drink with disgust, and drew gratefully at a

cigarette.

"There's a man called Pink, sir, come since you left," he began.

"Drives something he calls a Demon Six. I wouldn't 'ave it draw my

remains to the cemetery, but this Pink understands the natives all

right. He's got a racing body on 'er and no silencer and he always

wears a crash helmet to make her look faster. Takes all his corners

on two wheels, kills a couple of dogs most days, and comes down the

Avenida with flames shooting out of the exhaust pipe just when all

the lads of the village are having their evening drink and giving the

girls a treat. At the moment you couldn't give away a Catapult as

long as there was a Demon Six for sale. People are inclined to laugh

at us. Of course, I 'aven't said nothing. It's true I did have to

remove three or four young fellers from the pub where I generally get

my glass of beer at night."

"What's Pink like?" asked Jim Andaside.

"I couldn't say, sir, never having spoken to him, but he's a big,

hefty sort of bloke, and got red hair and curly at that and I don't

like him. I knew a red-haired girl once. 'S been a lesson to me."

Jim Andaside's keen eyes wandered thoughtfully to the Sierra Morena

which rises like the backcloth of a theatrical set behind the

pleasant city of Peixoes.

"What sort of a road runs over those mountains?" he asked.

"Well sir, you know what they call a road in these parts. It's the

kind that makes a mule feel sorry for itself, and the gradient's

about one in one here and there, not to mention lumps of rock

scattered about. Fit to tear the tires off a traction engine, I

should say."

"I have fitted a set of unpuncturable tires to that chassis I brought

out with me. I s'spose a racing Catapult hasn't really anything to

fear from Mr. Pink, has it, Pete?" went on Jim dreamily.

Pete expectorated silently.

"Just as I thought," concluded Jim Andaside. "We'd better arrange a

little hill climbing contest. Bear up, Pete, my lad; all is not

lost, not by a jugful."

He went up to his room, and by much fluent persuasion extracted a

bath from the staff, shaved, changed, and drove himself gently in a

despised Catapult to dine with Vingie, Sir Charles and Rupert. Over

cocktails and cigarettes the air became electric.

"I have most awful news," began Vingie, "there's a man called

Pink----"

"I know all about Pink, or Hildebrand as I prefer to call him,"

interrupted Jim Andaside suavely. "I shall give his flesh to the

beasts of the field and the fowls of the air."

"We must arrange a race or something and beat him," continued Vingie.

Jim shook his head.

"I should be ashamed to take the prize," he declared. "It would be

murder to start a Catapult against that galloping bedstead of his.

With your permission we'll give the poor chap a chance and arrange a

little reliability run up the Sierra Morena. You and the Señorita

and Rupert can come as my passengers and Hildebrand can just take his

poor self, and the car that goes farthest and comes back under its

own power wins. It would look a bit personal if I were to suggest

it, so perhaps you wouldn't mind fixing up details with the

president!"

"Does any one know a respectable local bookmaker?" inquired Sir

Charles. "The Iberians bet like blazes, and if all their money is

going on this Pink fellow I might be able to get a very decent price

about Jim. Have you any information, Rupert?"

"I'll go and ring up Harrington at the Embassy," volunteered Rupert.

"He's an honorary member of the Jockey Club. He might be able to get

better odds than we should. It's worth trying."

"Jim," demanded Vingie, "are you perfectly sure you aren't going to

make a fool of me if I do what you ask?"

"Perfectly, my dear lady. Hildebrand is a gear-grinder, a

clutch-crasher, a brake-and-accelerator person. One needs a soul to

drive cars, and he only possesses red hair and a face of brass. Pete

has listened to Hildebrand's engine day after day and it's simply a

sheep in wolf's clothing. My Catapult has the heart of a lion

although it purrs like a kitten and ticks like a clock."

Vingie drilled him with her ruthless gaze.

"The del Sols are dining here to-morrow," she said at last. "From

what I hear of the old gentleman, I may have a certain influence over

him. You'd better not come, Jim, because of Maria Dolores. But if

you and your Catapult let me down I shall simply hand you Charles'

revolver and you'll know what to do."

Twenty-four hours later, all that was mortal of her veiled in a wisp

of flame-colored inspiration, she received Señor Alphonso del Sol

with precisely the right mingling of homage to his exalted office and

stimulus to his masculine intuition. He wore the riband of the Order

of the Flaming Sunset, a pretty thing in scarlet and gold, draped

across his immaculate shirt-front, and dissolved easily into flowing

gestures. Maria Dolores accompanied him, swaying from the hips, her

lips red and passionate, her eyes dark and smoldering, mysterious

beneath her mantilla, undeniably beautiful.

When her glance fell upon Rupert Frack, tall and a thought austere,

his earnest intelligent face molded into an expression of welcome

tinged by that faint hauteur peculiar to the Foreign Office, her lips

drew back a shade from the pearliest teeth in Iberia and a suspicion

of warmth underlay the peach bloom of her cheek. Then her dark eyes

swept Vingie from head to foot and her red upper lip curled in faint

contempt.

"She's saying to herself: Thin cold northern skeleton, I will take

the _caballero_ away from you before you know where you are,"

reflected Vingie, who missed very little. "Well, she can have Rupert

if she likes, for the time being anyhow. Business before pleasure is

my motto at the moment."

"I'm so delighted to meet you, Señorita," she said aloud. "I've been

looking forward to it most frightfully. I think Iberia's so

wonderful. How lucky you are to live here always."

"Beautiful, yes--poor, alas!" returned the señorita. "In your

country every one has several motor-cars. Here, sometimes an

ox-cart, sometimes nothing."

Rupert Frack came forward to be presented; they moved slowly in the

direction of the dining-room. Under the majestic ægis of Sir

Charles' butler, who hypnotized his Iberian staff, rising superior to

ignorance of the language as butlers and highly trained N.C.O.'s can

rise, the meal glided like a perfect lyric to its close. Sir Charles

spoke the epilogue with stately indulgence.

"Señor, the other day we sat in the sun reviving our youth as old men

do. We lamented the beauties of those days, but then I had not seen

the señorita. With your permission, I raise my glass to your

beautiful daughter."

His words roused two couples from mutual oblivion. Señor Alphonso

ceased to gaze into the eyes of Vingie. Rupert tore his glance from

the slumberous orbs of Maria Dolores. On the noticeable silence

broke the clear tones of Vingie very sweetly:

"Señorita, may I envy your delightful motorcar?"

She referred tactfully to the gold and scarlet horror presented by

Jim Andaside. Señor Alphonso, courageous with wine, took up the tale.

"It is indeed a delightful motor-car," he asserted, "and in order to

reform the internal communications of my harassed country I had

arranged to guarantee the purchase of a vast quantity of these cars.

But opposition arose." He looked sternly at Maria Dolores. "And now

a competitor arrives, a Señor Pink, with another car, and

representations are made to me concerning it, as if I, the chief

executive, did not know better than any one else what is good for

Iberia."

Sir Charles permitted himself a rich chuckle.

"I'm not a betting man, Señor Alphonso, but I'm prepared to risk a

little money on your opinion. I happen to have a few shares in the

company that makes your car."

Vingie gazed at the president with wide-open eyes and childish

enthusiasm.

"Why not arrange a sporting event, Señor? Suppose you made them both

climb the Sierra Morena, and chose the one that got to the top and

returned the first?"

"Only a goat could climb to the top of the Sierra Morena," declared

Maria Dolores scornfully.

"Well, the winner might be the one that got farthest, and came back

quickest," amended Vingie, still with her infantile air.

"It is a brilliant suggestion," declared Señor Alphonso, placing his

hand affectionately on Vingie's bare arm. "I, the president, will

arrange it. To-morrow I will summon the Señor Andaside and the Señor

Pink. The affair will be as amusing as a bull fight, for one of them

will certainly be killed, and perhaps both."

"My father is often foolish when he has taken a little wine,"

observed Maria Dolores. "However, what do I care?" she turned

exclusively to Rupert Frack. "I suppose you are greatly beloved by

the ladies of your country, Señor?" she suggested with delicacy.

Rupert Frack smiled sorrowfully.

"My country is far away and I have no one to love me. It is hard, is

it not, to be a stranger in a strange land?"

"It is our duty to console the exile," murmured the señorita and

raised her eyes to his.

When the gold and scarlet motor-car had rolled away, Vingie, sipping

iced lemonade, considered her audience thoughtfully.

"A nice pair, those two!" she said at last. "Upon my word, Charles,

I had great difficulty in restraining the old gentleman."

"There did indeed seem to be a slight atmosphere of _sangre y arena_

at one time," admitted Sir Charles. "I half feared a family quarrel

might break out under our very eyes."

"Of course, Rupert's behavior with that very crude young woman was

simply disgraceful," continued Vingie. "I feel positive he was

holding her hand under the table the whole time."

She rose to go to bed. Rupert took her empty glass, held her cloak,

and arranged it reverentially about her white shoulders.

"I assure you, Virginia, I was thinking of no one but you; for the

rest my most sensitive feelings have simply been butchered to make an

Iberian holiday," he answered, without a trace of hesitation.

Seated under an awning and on the balcony of the city hall at the

president's right hand, Sir Charles gazed down on an animated scene.

Two squadrons of the seventeenth Iberian Lancers and police

innumerable controlled a vast crowd. Two cars, a four-seater

Catapult containing Vingie and Jim Andaside in front, Maria Dolores

and Rupert behind, and the licentious Demon Six with Hildebrand Pink

as sole passenger, stood bonnet by bonnet in the roadway. Presently

the Orderly Trumpeter of No. 1 Squadron sounded the reveille, and at

this signal the president arose, shut his eyes tightly and fired a

revolver. With a terrific roar, the Demon Six tore away and was lost

in a cloud of dust. Five minutes later the president fired again,

and with the utmost deliberation Jim Andaside started in pursuit.

"Well," observed the president, "they are brave men. I wish my

daughter had not insisted on participating, but she is a law unto

herself. Let us retire, my friend, and drink a glass of wine to

their safe return."

The road from Peixoes to the Sierra Morena is impossible for ten

miles, and then becomes unrecognizable. At the twelfth mile it

crosses a river bed, dry at this season, but deep and sandy. Jim

Andaside, who had organized mechanical transport during the Great War

in Eastern lands where there are no roads at all, ambled delicately

over the ruts and bumps without a care in the world.

"Note the attractiveness of cantilever springing and four wheel

braking," he said to Vingie, "neither of them standard on a Catapult,

but how should the president know that? Don't look so anxious; we

shall find Hildebrand quite safely in the river bed."

Twelve miles they lurched and staggered with no other excitement than

the pleasant conversation of Rupert Frack and the occasional prayers

of Maria Dolores. Then on the brink of the river bed they halted,

below their eyes a pathetic sight.

At the foot of the steep descending bank a cloud of dust arose,

churned by the revolving wheels of the Demon Six. They revolved

indeed, but to no purpose; they gripped nothing; they merely stirred

the foot-deep sand. Jim Andaside eyed the steaming radiator of the

Demon Six and shook his head sadly.

"Too bad," he murmured, "but it had to be. I felt sure Hildebrand

would change down too late. Besides, he has no weight over the back

axle. Now we have Maria Dolores."

He turned to Vingie and spoke simply, as to a child.

"In a case of this kind you will always engage first speed on the top

of the downward slope, and give her every scrap of gas all the way

down it. You will follow in any existing wheel tracks because the

ground under them will be more solid. These two precautions will get

you up the opposite bank if anything will. I shall utilize those

ruts made by some providential ox-cart. Now watch!"

He snicked the gear lever into first, eased in the clutch and

accelerated to the utmost. The Catapult roared down into the river

bed, skewed a little in the loose dust, recovered at a touch of the

steering wheel and rushed up the farther bank. Maria Dolores

screamed. Jim Andaside retarded the ignition notch by notch; the

rear wheels gripped and slipped and gripped again. Slowly, but

safely the Catapult heaved herself over the crest on to level ground.

Jim Andaside pushed out the clutch put the gear lever in neutral, and

pulled in his side brake.

"And that," he explained calmly, "is how it's done. We'd better go

on a bit for the sake of appearances, but Hildebrand will never get

out unless he's towed out."

They drifted over a scored and abraded earth for five miles or so,

saluting certain officers stationed at intervals to report on the

progress, if any, of the two cars. Under the shadow of an

over-hanging cliff, Jim Andaside produced a very adequate luncheon

basket. In the cool of late afternoon they began the return journey.

Amid the river bed the Demon Six still stood, but of Hildebrand Pink

there remained no trace.

"You shall drive the rest of the way to show how easy it is--with a

Catapult," said Jim Andaside to Vingie. "Remember--first speed, and

all the gas."

"In heaven's name no!" exclaimed Maria Dolores.

"Calm yourself, Señorita; Miss Lauriston drives superbly," retorted

the owner of the Catapult, and Rupert restrained Maria Dolores with a

firm yet gentle touch while Jim and Vingie exchanged seats.

Again the Catapult roared down, skewed, recovered and flung upward.

For one awful second Vingie's nerve failed, her foot hesitated on the

accelerator. A fierce face glared into hers. A frightful voice

snarled, "Gas, damn it--gas!" The Catapult swept up and over; the

remaining miles Vingie survived with easy triumph.

At the fine house of the president, Rupert handed Maria Dolores

impressively from the car. She stood surveying Vingie with the

supreme affection of one cat for another that has secured from it the

succulent wing of a chicken. Her eyes spoke a language of knives and

daggers, but her tongue dripped honey.

"You have done well, Señorita," declared Maria Dolores. "The victory

of the afternoon is indeed yours. Now in celebration I will give a

dinner party to you and these gentlemen and Sir Charles and to-night

I will show you something. Perhaps the night may yet be mine!"

She swept arrogantly into the coolness of the entrance; Rupert Frack

glanced a little wistfully at Vingie, and Jim Andaside shook his head.

"I'd rather wear a shirt of mail this evening if I had one than a

boiled shirt!" he murmured. "You," he went on, turning to Vingie,

"have scored over her; she was scared blue when you took the wheel.

Beware of an Iberian revenge. It may be anything from scratching

your face to poisoning your soup."

In spite of his foreboding, Vingie's unscratched face smiled later

over her unpoisoned soup. Only when, afterward, in the formal

sparsely furnished _salon_ Maria Dolores excused herself did Rupert

Frack place his tall exquisite form nearer his temporary _fiancée_.

The president leaned forward and indicated with lifted forefinger the

point of the story he was telling Sir Charles. Two musicians in

Iberian national costume entered carrying guitars and bowed before

the president.

At last came Maria Dolores, also in national costume--long

wide-skirted dress, high combed hair, and castanets complete--and

proceeded to dance the dance of her country.

Vingie sat upright in a stiff chair drinking in the scene. Harsh

electric light fell nakedly on the highly colored costume; the

musicians squatted on the floor, Maria Dolores turned slowly with

stamping of feet, and head thrown back, a provocative smile on her

lips and castanets clicking miraculously.

Vingie's eyes sought the faces of all the men; they were set in a

curious unblinking stare; even Sir Charles could not take his eyes

off this slowly circling figure. Maria Dolores clicked her castanets

triumphantly. It was the victory of the evening. Vingie might not

have existed for the moment. She seemed like a little girl allowed

to sit up late with her elders to witness an entertainment.

Maria Dolores danced three dances, each a little more intriguing than

the last, ending in a froth of whirling skirts.

Sir Charles clapped his hands twice, sonorously.

"Magnificent!" he declared to the president. "Your daughter has

absolute genius. Really, my dear President, she eclipses anything I

have seen on the stage for years." He began to speak in

technicalities.

"Her power-to-weight ratio seems pretty good just now, I admit," said

Jim Andaside under his breath. "The trouble is, when she's thirty,

she'll weigh a ton."

"Rupert at any rate is positively obsessed," retorted Vingie. "He

has the rapt look of the devotee seeing his goddess in a vision. We

might be in Noah's Ark instead of a drawing-room for all he knows or

cares."

"My interest, purely academic, is merely the outward manifestation of

an intelligent mind," explained Rupert a little plaintively.

Vingie shrugged contemptuous shoulders.

"Well, I'm frightfully tired. I'd like you to take me home please,

if the cabaret show is quite over."

"A perfectly marvelous technique!" declared Sir Charles in the car.

"I speak with some authority, having seen every creditable dancer for

the last thirty years. Like poets, they are born, not made."

"Oh, the little more stocking and how much it is, and the little less

and what worlds away!" mocked Vingie. "I want to talk to you people

when we get home. Don't you dare go to bed till I tell you."

In her own drawing-room she lighted a cigarette, curled into a chair,

and regarded them coldly.

"What about Pink, Jim?" she began.

"He confessed all," answered Jim Andaside. "He made the car himself

out of oddments he picked up from the Disposals Board--old war stuff,

you know. I lent him fifty pounds to get out of the country."

"Have you signed your contract with the president?"

"Not yet. I'm waiting for a sign from Maria Dolores. At present she

seems a little distant."

"You!" jeered Vingie. "You are extinct, my young friend, Rupert is

the blue-eyed darling, just now. She will never do anything for you

unless I interfere. She so hates to think she ever thought twice

about you when a Rupert existed."

She flicked cigarette ash delicately on to the floor. "This rather

vulgar exhibition we've just witnessed has given me an idea,

however," she went on. "I suppose I can trust your judgment as to

the merits of this young person's dancing, Charles? And I suppose,

Rupert, that George Fordingbridge would give his patronage to a

theatrical entertainment to the extent of sitting in a box and

lending tone to an otherwise undistinguished mob?"

"I think I can promise that much on his behalf," declared Rupert.

Vingie rose gracefully to her feet and stood for one moment

fastidiousness incarnate.

"I am going to bed," she announced icily. "Which of you connoisseurs

of Iberian limbs would like to open the door for me?"

On the morrow, after the hour of siesta, Vingie put on a simple white

frock and called upon Maria Dolores, ostensibly to inspect ancient

Iberian lace, the heirlooms of ages. Her hostess received her

intimately, clad in a wrapper, a cigarette of the country between her

lips. Presently, over the archaic cobwebs of needlework they talked

as girl to girl.

"Lace--silks--jewels, all are but toys to give us power over men,"

declared Maria Dolores. She glanced down at her supple limbs and

sighed. "If only there were men worthy of me," she complained. "I

am tired of Iberia. I'm a fit mate for an English prince, or an

American millionaire."

"You do not love Mr. Andaside?" queried Vingie innocently.

"For a moment he interested me. Later I desired to win the Señor

Frack away from you. At the time, I was angry but that is all over.

Women should assist one another, Señorita. Men are our common prey."

"Mr. Frack is nothing to me. I have dozens of admirers," said Vingie

absently. "Sir Charles decided to visit Iberia as soon as he heard

that your distinguished father wished to buy a large number of

motor-cars. He felt Mr. Andaside was a trifle too young to act

alone. Mr. Frack is a--a kind of secretary to Sir Charles. I

believe there is some little difficulty to be cleared up."

"It is very well for my father. He will get a present from the

motor-car company and commission from every Iberian who buys a car,

but I, what do I get, and I am cleverer than my father; besides he

does what I tell him," replied Maria Dolores moodily.

"Sir Charles has talked of nothing but your dancing ever since last

night," Vingie went on. "If you were to come to London you would

have society at your feet. We know absolutely every one; it would be

quite simple to arrange for a theater, a manager, publicity,

everything. An artistic triumph such as yours opens all doors, and

any one as beautiful as you are might choose practically any man she

likes for a husband."

"I have an old aunt who would act as my chaperon," mused Maria

Dolores. "If what you say is true I think the little business

difficulty of Señor Andaside would vanish."

"I will settle the details in twenty-four hours," promised Vingie.

Maria Dolores rose from her couch and flung away the cigarette.

"Señorita Virginia," she implored, "permit me to embrace you. May

you have a thousand lovers, every one of them faithful!"

Half an hour later Vingie stepped daintily across the threshold of

the Hotel Nacional and demanded Jim Andaside.

"I've saved you," she said briefly, "but don't waste time being

grateful. Get that car of yours and take me to Henry Carter. There

isn't a moment to lose."

At Mr. Carter's office she poured her tale into his sympathetic ear.

He nodded gravely and made swift notes on a scribbling pad. "I've

fed Berriman with a gentle stream of anecdotes," he explained, "and

the dust-up with Pink made a good story. The Maria Dolores stunt in

London will be a scoop of course. I'll send Berriman an S.O.S.

cable."

"How perfectly charming of you," murmured his fair accomplice, and in

the light of her eyes he wrote with such eloquence as brought the

reply from Mr. Berriman:

"Dorian, eminent manager, agrees produce Maria Dolores, whole story

exclusively to _Daily Tale_!"

"You aren't cross with me, Charles, darling? You don't mind hurrying

home?" pleaded Vingie that evening, straightening his tie with

affectionate fingers. Sir Charles, who was really very fond of her,

smiled indulgently.

"On the contrary," he declared, "we shall be back just in time for

the Early Summer Handicap. I have a tip straight from the stable at

very comfortable odds."

Jim Andaside, a slight but exceedingly tough figure, stood on the

pier to say good-by. He declined to leave the land of promise. "I

shall remain on the Rhine, so to speak, until the reparation money is

paid over," he insisted. "Besides, an Eye-Opening Eight or a

Terrible Twelve may come along. One never knows."

The S.S. _Rodriguez_ commenced to shake the miles from her creaming

wake. Through sunny days at sea Vingie began to depend exclusively

on Sir Charles for spiritual companionship. Almost violently she

flung Maria Dolores and Rupert Frack together. When Sir Charles

reproved her in his tactful fashion she smiled with lovely patience.

"I feel old and maternal, Charles. Let the young creatures play,"

she said.

In London Mr. Berriman was found to have exceeded the liveliest

expectations. His publicity proved of a superhuman cunning. The

public stood on tiptoe to behold a new star. Lord Fordingbridge,

invited to dine at Park Street, could hardly take his eyes from Maria

Dolores. Afterward he went and sat by Vingie, and spoke with his

usual rich charm.

"For people with inherited taste like you and me she's a bit

obvious," he rumbled, "but then, my dear, we are a small and dying

company. The great mass of the electorate will go off their heads.

She will even be pleasin' to some of the young of our own set. I've

been fairly clever, for me; her photographs are all over the place

you know, and I've tipped her to a few likely young fellows in the

Household Brigade--young Norreys and Jack Plinlimmon, and all that

crowd. It'll be a wonderful first night. I've got a box and you

must promise to sit beside me, and bring Charles."

Vingie nodded absently.

"Stay with me a little while if you will be so kind," she begged. "I

feel I've been living among dreadfully crude people. Are there any

people nowadays, do you think? I begin to doubt it."

When Mr. Dorian, the well-known manager, saw Maria Dolores he wept

for joy, and then bargained for an increased share of profits. He

had dark curly hair and a conquering nose, and the shine of his silk

hat and patent shoes made one think of diamonds.

On the night when Maria Dolores made her debut at the Ommium Theater,

the scenes baffled description and the critics wished to hide

themselves in the woods, because they knew it was not art, and were

afraid to say so in the face of popular enthusiasm. As a matter of

fact, they were right; it was the personality and the supple form of

Maria Dolores at the age of nineteen, before she became thirty and

weighed a ton.

Lord Fordingbridge flung an enormous bouquet on to the stage with the

verve of a boy.

"A thing I haven't done since 1876," he said apologetically to

Virginia, "but it's a good thing to let one's self go occasionally

and it'll please the dear girl."

His voice dropped to a graver note. "I've paid the check into your

account, if you'll forgive the horrible sordid detail; we had a cable

from Jim this afternoon to say the deal was settled. How happy

Berriman looks down there in the stalls. His is the only paper with

any exclusive news of our young friend."

"Well," said Vingie with a little sigh. "I have deserved well of the

state I suppose. If you want a monument to me, look over there."

She pointed to the rampart of roses on the stage. Lord Fordingbridge

smiled gaily.

"Largely, largely no doubt. But we must give a crumb of credit to

Rupert. Y'see Dorian absolutely declined to risk his own money and

backing had to be found. Rupert suggested Silby, the war-profiteer.

He invented a sock with a little asbestos in the wool. Troops simply

couldn't wear 'em out. Silby sold thousands of millions of pairs.

We put it to him as a semi-official matter, and as he's anglin' for a

title, he was delighted. I felt quite proud of Rupert, the dear

fellow."

Even as he spoke, Rupert Frack, in faultless kit, entered the box.

Vingie summed him up in a comprehensive glance. He smiled down

joyfully.

"Bill Norreys is giving Maria Dolores supper," he announced. "She

saw him in uniform when he was changing Guard at the Palace. I've

ceased to exist. I'm so happy."

"Then perhaps you could spare time to take me home," murmured Vingie.

"I'm awf'ly tired. Charles and George are going to be boys again, I

understand."

In the car she was very silent. She reserved the small drawing-room

in Park Street for the epilogue of their adventure.

She stood by the fireplace, a beautiful figure perfectly turned out

from head to foot and with a delicate gesture of resignation removed

a diamond and sapphire ring from the third finger of her left hand to

the third finger of her right.

"I forgot about it before," she explained. "It's been very

instructive to be engaged to you, Rupert. You're very nice, but much

too obliging. You not only obliged me but practically any woman who

came along, particularly Maria Dolores. I s'pose it's your

diplomatic training."

Rupert's expression became crestfallen.

"I tried to be very tactful," he declared. "I didn't want to worry

you in any way. But I was always there when you wanted me, and not a

fragment of your luggage was lost in that thieving country."

"Probably I shall have to be thrashed into submission," she murmured.

"I seem to require a tigerish wooing. You're far too sympathetic to

thrash any one. It would hurt you more than it hurt her. Good

night, Rupert. Try not to break your heart too badly."

She was standing alone, deep in thought, when Sir Charles returned.

She went up to him and put her hands on his shoulders. "If only I

could marry you, Charles, I should never want to sow another wild oat

as long as I lived. But it would be too bad to do that. You've

escaped for about forty years. You shall live on in your sentimental

bird-sanctuary."

She kissed him and went, sighing softly, to bed.