"How do you like his hair parted that way in the middle?" demanded the flapper, with the calculating eye of one who ponders changes in a dwelling-house.
"U-u-mm!" considered the Demon gravely. "Not bad. Still, perhaps!"
"Exactly what I was thinking!" said the flapper cordially. Then, to Bean, her tone slightly raised:
"Which way?"
"Got to get off a bunch of telegrams," lied Bean.
"Oh, all right! We'll wait for you," said the flapper. "Right there," she added, pointing to the most expensive pergola on the place.
In the dusk of an hour later he slunk stealthily down a rear stairway and made a cautious detour into the grounds. He earnestly meant to keep far from that pergola. Wait for him, would they? Well, he'd show them! Always spying on a man; hounding him! What business was it of theirs whether he had habits or not . . . any kind of habits?
But he was to find himself under a spell such as is said to bring the weak-willed bird to the serpent's maw. His traitorous feet dragged him toward the trap. The odour of a cigarette drew his revolted nostrils. He could hear the murmurous duet.
Talking about him! Of course! He would like to break in on them and for a little while be a certain Corsican upstart in one of his most
