"Will you do me the honor?" she said half-mockingly, nodding toward the only vacant chairs at the table. "Would it not be wise for me to go at once?" I asked quietly. "If you do not sit at the table with me I lose. But please yourself,"--wearily. "It has all been very distasteful to me." "I will stay to the bitter end. My conceit and assurance need a drubbing." I offered her my arm. All eyes were centered upon us. She hesitated. "We might as well go through this ordeal in a proper spirit and manner," I said. I rather believe I puzzled her. She flushed slightly, but laid her hand on my arm, and together we walked over to the vacant chairs and sat down. The laughter and hum of voices ceased instantly. In faith, I was becoming amused. They were going to have their fun with me; well, two could play at that game. II The host rose, and, leaning on his fingertips, he addressed me: "Sir, all this doubtless strikes you as rather extraordinary." "Very extraordinary," I replied. "To dine under such circumstances is not accorded to every man." "To which do you refer: the honor or the _modus operandi_?" "Both. Now, an explanation is due you." "So I observe,"--gravely. "The pleasure is mine. To begin with, permit me to introduce you to my guests." One by one he named them, the ladies and gentlemen. I had heard of them all. Money had made them famous. "As for myself, I am Daniel Ainsworth; this is my home. I dare say you have heard of me." "I have won money on your horses, sir,"--with all the gravity of expression I found possible to assume. My remark was greeted with laughter. My host, composing his lips, resumed. "And now, sir, whom have I the honor to address?" "I am the author of many a famous poem,"--tranquilly. "Ah!" "Yes; anonymous. Sir, my name would mean nothing to you or your guests: I am poor." There was a trace of admiration in the girl's eyes as she turned her head. "Besides," I went on, "I want a little revenge." "Good!" bawled my host; "good! You're a man of kidney, sir. A gentleman is always a gentleman; and I do not need to look at you twice, sir, to note that my niece's choice has been a happy one." "You have not introduced me to your niece," said I, "who is, next to myself, the most important guest at the table." "Hang me! The young lady at your side is Miss Helen Berkeley, the best horsewoman in the state, if I do say so myself." Great applause, as they say in the press gallery. I looked squarely at the girl, but she was busy turning round her empty wine-glass. "I appreciate the honor, sir," I said; "but now will you favor me with the _modus operandi_, or, to be particular, the reason of all this mystery?"