room, where he leaves me in a comfortable chair, and departs in search of claret-cup. Close to me a group of men are discussing the charms of their late partners, with a freedom that should delight those ladies, if they were by to hear.
"Give you my word of honour, Dalrymple," says one, "she had an entirely new set for this evening. Only had a very few teeth left—remaining stumps were taken out yesterday—new set put in this morning—here to-night!"
"Don't believe any mortal woman could stand it," says another.
"Then she's immortal, my dear fellow," says the first speaker, "for I know it to be a fact. She's engaged too. Rather awkward person to kiss—eh? Things may come to a dead lock."
"Or lock-jaw."
"I hope this is right," says Sir William, appearing before me. "I did not quite like the flavouring, so I have been showing the butler how to improve it."
So that accounts for the disgusted expression on Birkhead's face. Evidently he does not appreciate a fool as keenly as I do!
CHAPTER X.
Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold."
Supper is over, and I have danced a great many dances with partners, good, bad, and indifferent, have been startled, amused, pleased at the pretty speeches made to me, and which I have tried hard to convince myself are not meant in the very least, though in my secret soul I do believe that a few of them were not spoken in jest but earnest: and now we have stepped out of the crowded, noisy rooms, Paul and I, on to the terrace, where couples are walking up and down in the clear white light of the moon making love, or the
