The lady on the table stiffened suddenly. "What--that poisonous bounder?" She rolled up her eyes. "My che-ild!" "But you let him make love to you." "_Did_ I? I suppose you were there," observed Miss Gaymer witheringly, "disguised as a Chinese lantern!" "Well, what _did_ you do, then?" "He asked me to be his blushing bride," said the unfeeling Miss Gaymer, "and tried to grab my hand. I squinted down my nose, and looked very prim and sweet, and thought we had better be getting back to the ballroom, and he could talk to Mr. Marrable in the morning. If that's your idea of allowing people to make _love_, dear friend--" "But you--you--promised to marry him!" said poor Hughie. Joan stared at him. "Do you mean to tell me, Hughie," she said slowly, "that he told you _that_?" "Yes--with one or two corroborative details. That was why I had to tell him--everything, you know. It was the only way, I thought, to choke him off." "O--o--oh!" Miss Gaymer wriggled indignantly. "The creature! And when he heard I had no money, he cried off?" Hughie bowed his head. Joan gave a low gurgling laugh. "There's no getting over it, Hughie!" she said. "He scored. A nasty slap for little me! But I deserved it, for trying to trifle with his young affections. Well, you have given me one reason for his departure. What was the other?" Hughie eyed her in some embarrassment. Then he said,-- "He began to talk about you, Joey, in a way I didn't like, so I--" His eye slid round towards the window, and then downward in the direction of his right foot. A smile crept over his troubled face, and he glanced at Joan. "Oh, Hughie, _did_ you?" she exclaimed rapturously. "Yes. He landed in that rose-bed. Look!" Joey shuffled off the table and joined him by the window. A few feet below them, on the rose-bed, lay the unmistakable traces of the impact of a body falling from rest with an acceleration due to something more than the force of gravity. Joan cooed softly, evidently well pleased. Hughie turned and regarded her with a puzzled expression. No man ever yet fathomed the workings of the feminine mind, but he never quite gives up trying to do so. "Are you glad that he got thrown out?" he asked. Joan pondered. "It's not exactly that," she said. "I'm not glad he was thrown out: it must have hurt him, poor dear! But I'm glad you threw him out, if you understand the difference." Hughie was not at all sure that he did, but he nodded his head in a comprehending manner. Then he continued:-- "Tell me, Joey, if you didn't care for him, why did you send him to me, instead of giving him the knock direct?" Joey surveyed her retired "warder" with eyes half-closed.