The duke headed off the two Americans as they left the hotel half an hour later. He was evidently watching for them, and his purpose was clear. It was his duty to prevent Quentin from going to the Garrison home, if possible. After shaking hands with Savage, the little man suggested a visit to a dance house in the lower end, promising an evening of rare sport. He and Count Sallaconi, who came up from Paris with the prince, had planned a little excursion into unusual haunts, and he hoped the Americans had a few dull hours that needed brightening. Phil savagely admitted to himself that he anticipated a good many dull hours, but they could not be banished by the vulgarity of a dance hall. The long, bony, fierce-mustached count came up at this moment and joined in imploring the young men to go with them to the “gayest place in all Brussels.” “Let's go, Phil, just to see how much worse our New York places are than theirs,” said Dickey. “But I have a--er--sort of an engagement,” remonstrated Quentin, reluctantly. The duke gave him a sharp look. “Do not be afraid,” he said, laughing easily. “We will not permit the dancing girls to harm you.” “He's not afraid of girls,” interposed Dickey. “Girls are his long suit. You didn't tell me you had an engagement?” Quentin gave him a withering look. “I have one, just the same,” he said, harshly. “You will not accompany us, then?” said the count, the line between his eyebrows growing deeper. “I have to thank you, gentlemen, and to plead a previous engagement. May we not go some other night?” “I am afraid we shall not again be in the same mood for pleasure,” said the duke, shifting his eyes nervously. “The count and I have but little time to give to frivolity. We are disappointed that you will not join us on this one night of frolic.” “I regret it exceedingly, but if you knew what I have to do to-night you would not insist,” said Phil, purposely throwing a cloak of mystery about his intentions for the mere satisfaction of arousing their curiosity. “Very well, mes Americains; we will not implore you longer,” responded the count, carelessly. “May your evening be as pleasant as ours.” The two Italians bowed deeply, linked arms and strolled away. “Say, those fellows know you haven't an engagement,” exclaimed Savage, wrathfully. “What sort of an ass are you?” “See here, Dickey, you've still got something to learn in this world. Don't imagine you know everything. You don't, you know. Do you think I am going to walk into one of their traps with my eyes open?” “Traps? You don't mean to say this dance hall business is a trap?” exclaimed Dickey, his eyes opening wide with an interest entirely foreign to his placid nature. “I don't know, and that's why I am keeping out of it. Now, let's take our walk, a nice cool drink or two and go to bed where we can dream about what might have happened to us at the dance hall.” “Where does she live?” asked Savage, as they left the rotunda.