dowagers who were at a loss to find partners for their "dotters," the dowagers who had boycotted Gritty on the boat but were ready to squander pity and piastres on syphilitic dragomans snivelling about fictitious bereavements; to teach the lesson to them and to the college youths who had not dared to cut their apron-strings, Paul collected three or four officers in especially ornate uniforms and an Earl, Freddy, a nephew of Henry Shroton, and brought them to Gritty's side, while the pretty little American debutantes looked on.
Gritty was transformed from the mannequin who had stood on the terrace into an agile doll. She radiated jollity. When Paul presented the bashful Freddy—with pompous emphasis on his title—Gritty clapped a hand to her forehead and exclaimed in mock dismay, "My God!" Then she extended her hand. "Shake on it, old top. I been dying to know a honest-to-God nobleman all my life but never have, not one. I was afraid they'd be terribly up-stage!" Gritty smiled with an odd grimace, her frank eyes fixed on the young man as if to sympathize with him for the embarrassment she was causing him.
"At least," he stammered good-naturedly, "I'm glad I'm not that, whatever it is!"
"Oh, you're just too sweet for words," she assured him. "I hope to goodness you're going to ask me to dance, for I just gotta make a entry in my diary—April 10th: rode on a camel and danced with a Earl!"
The others pressed nearer, and the youth, overcoming his shyness in the friendly throng, ventured a further suggestion, "What about another entry, on April 11th or 12th: had luncheon with Freddy?"
"Mercy, no!" exclaimed Gritty. "My diary would never stand for such goings on as that!" And the others slapped the discomfited Freddy on the back and laughed as heartily as though Gritty had told a naughty story.
Suddenly Paul looked over his shoulder. He had
