Mary laughed. Hare, who was listening to boat matters with one ear only, thought it was rather a conscious laugh. "Only John Richards. He came up in his car yesterday to spend a day with us. How do you like my hat?" "It's a love," said Mrs. Marne. "A great big love." "I trimmed it myself. You recognize the feather, of course?" They went down to luncheon. The ladies cried out with pleasure at the prettiness of the little saloon. The room was darkened, through half-drawn shades, to a pleasant dimness. The table was round, red, and bare. It was a splendid mass of flowers. In the center was a great blossoming thing in a silver basket-frame, so large and high that when they were seated, Hare, who was neither, could just see Mary over the top of it. About it were four tall vases of cut roses, two of white, two of red. Button-holes in white and red lay at three covers, gigantic American Beauties, red, with flowing white ribbons, at two. And napery, silver, iridescent glass, all the materialities, were well worthy of so pretty a floral setting. In short, it was a most alluring bait that Uncle Elbert's yacht had flung out for Uncle Elbert's daughter. "These roses," said Mary, raising hers to her lips, "were never grown in Hunston." "I want to explain a rule that Mr. Varney and I adopted just now, Mr. Maginnis," said Mrs. Marne. "Did you hear it? It concerns the two subjects of butter and politics." Hare lifted a glass of the _Cypriani's_ excellent sherry and caught his host's eye. "Mr. Varney! By a pleasant coincidence, we happen to be gathered here within a day or two of the birthday of one member of our charming party. The little discrepancy of date is immaterial--am I right? Why may I not propose the health and great happiness of Miss Carstairs?" "Standing!" cried Mrs. Marne, pushing back her chair. "Bravo!" They stood, glasses raised, turned toward Miss Carstairs, bowing, saluting her according to their several kinds; and she sat, looking up at them, laughing, flushed, prettily pleased by the little rite. For Varney, conscious of the mockery of his felicitations, there had been no escape. But Hare, who noticed everything, observed that he did not touch his glass to his lips. The luncheon progressed merrily. It was evident from the beginning that it was to be a pronounced success. Only Peter was stiff and bored; and even he grew somewhat enlivened before the ceremonies ended. There was Scotch and soda for the gentlemen, and he did not spurn it when the decanters passed. Varney, whose want of appetite pained McTosh, was a conversational tower of strength. But his talk was false-faced talk, his mirth was lying mirth, his smile a painted smile. Uncle Elbert's daughter sat at his left, as befitted a guest of honor. Her eyes, when she looked at him, were kind and friendly, but it early became his habit not to meet them; for he always saw behind that--saw them changed as he was destined to see them within the hour....