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“He’s no beauty, at any rate; but he’s a great match, I suppose?”

“Oh, perhaps it isn’t true.”

“You speak as if you wished it wasn’t. I’ve heard about Mr. Wentworth from Victor Sutton–you know who I mean?” and Mrs. Marland proceeded to give some particulars of Calder Wentworth’s career.

Meanwhile that gentleman himself was telling Agatha Glyn a very humorous story. Agatha did not laugh. Suddenly she interrupted him.

“Why don’t you ask me more about it?”

“I thought you’d tell me if you wanted me to know,” he answered.

“You are the most insufferable man. Don’t you care in the least what I do or where I go?”

“Got perfect confidence in you,” said Calder politely.

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, I daresay not; but it’s so much more comfortable for me.”

“I disappeared–simply disappeared–for a fortnight; and you’ve never asked where I went, or what I did, or–or anything.”

“Haven’t I? Where did you go?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“There, you see! What the dickens was the good of my asking?”

“If you knew what I did I suppose you’d never speak to me again.”

“All right. Keep it dark then, please.”

“For one tiling, I met–No, I won’t.”

“I never asked you to, you know.”

They walked on a little way in silence.

“Met young Sutton at lunch,” observed Calder. “He’s been rusticating with some relations of old Van Merceron’s. They’ve got a nice place apparently.”

“I particularly dislike Mr. Sutton.”

“All right. He sha’n’t come when we’re married. Eh? What?”

“I didn’t speak,” said Miss Glyn, who had certainly done something.

“Beg pardon,” smiled Calder. “Victor told me rather a joke. It appears there’s a young Merceron, and the usual rustic beauty, don’t you know–forget the name–but a fat girl, Victor said, and awfully gone on young Merceron. Well, there’s a pond or something—-“

“How long will this story last?” asked Miss Glyn with a tragic air.

“It’s an uncommon amusing one,” protested Calder. “He upset her in the pond, and—-“

“Do you mind finishing it some other time?”

“Oh, all right. Thought it’d interest you.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Never knew such a girl! No sense of humor!” commented Calder, with a shake of his head and a backward roll of his eye towards his companion.

But it makes such a difference whether a story is new to the hearer.

CHAPTER VI

THERE WAS SOMEBODY

Two worlds and half a dozen industries had conspired to shower gold on Calder Wentworth’s head. There was land in the family, brought by his grandmother; there was finance on the paternal side (whence came a Portuguese title, carefully eschewed by Calder); there had been a London street, half a watering-place, a South African mine, and the better part of an American railway. The street and the watering-place remained; the mine and the railway had been sold at the top of the market. About the same time the family name became Wentworth–it had been Stripes, which was felt to be absurd–and the family itself began to take an exalted place in society. The rise was the easier because, when old Mr. Stripes-Wentworth died, young Mr. Calder S. Wentworth became the only representative; and a rich young bachelor can rise lightly to heights inaccessible to the feet of less happily situated folk. It seemed part of Providence’s benevolence that when Lady Forteville asked how many ‘Stripes women’ there were, the answer could be ‘None’; whereupon the countess at once invited Mr. Calder Wentworth to dinner. Calder went, and rolled his frog’s eyes with much amusement when the lady asked him to what Wentworths he belonged, for, as he observed to Miss Glyn, whom he had the pleasure of escorting, his Wentworths were an entirely new brand, and Lady Forteville knew it as well as if she had read the letters patent and invented the coat-of-arms.

“Mr. Wentworth–Mr. Merceron,” said Victor Sutton, with a wave of his hand.

“I believe I know an uncle of yours–an uncommon clever fellow,” said Calder, unfolding his napkin and glancing round the dining-room of the Themis Club.

“Oh, Uncle Van? Yes, we consider him our—-“