"I approach that at once. This is leap year, as you will recollect. On January first I gave a leap-year party, and in the spirit of fun each lady present declared her intention of bringing to a series of late dinners a gentleman whom none of us knew, either by sight or by reputation. He was to be lured into a carriage by some story or other, and was not to know the true state of things till he sat at the table. My niece was the last on the list. Those who backed down were to give a house-party of a week's length. Women detest house-parties, and that is the one reason why this comedy has gone down the line without a failure. This is the eighth dinner. Each lady present has fulfilled her obligation to the year. We have had some curious specimens of humanity: a barber, a mild lunatic, a detective who thought he was on the trail of some terrible crime, an actor, a political reformer, and an English groom who palmed himself off as a lord. The actor and yourself, sir, are the only men who seemed to possess any knowledge of the various uses of dinner forks." "You haven't seen me eat yet," I interpolated. All this was highly amusing to me. I was less a victim than a spectator. "You will do us the honor of permitting us to criticize your knowledge of the forks," laughed Ainsworth. "Now, Nell, tell us how you lured Mr. Anonymous into your carriage." Very quietly she recounted the tale. She omitted but one incident. "In front of a club!" cried the ladies in unison. "Why in the world didn't we think of that?" "Miss Berkeley has omitted one thing," said I maliciously. "And, pray, what?" asked Miss Berkeley's uncle. "Remember," she whispered, "you are supposed to be a gentleman." I took umbrage at the word "supposed." "Miss Berkeley must tell you what she has omitted in the course of her narrative." "And I refuse to tell." "Hang it, Nell, I'll wager Mr. Anonymous kissed you!" cried her uncle. "Caught!" cried one of the ladies. "Allow me a word," I interposed. I was already sorry. "There was a method in my action which must not be misconstrued. I believed, for a moment, that Miss Berkeley might be a new species of bunko-steerer. If she objected noisily to my salute I should find my case proved; if she cried, I was wrong." "And?" "She did neither. She rubbed her cheek." "I'll warrant!" my host bawled. "Oh, this is rich! A bunko-steerer!" "Miss Berkeley," I whispered, "we are quits." "Not yet,"--ominously. It was almost time for me to go! "I was going to ask your pardon," said the uncle in his hunter-voice; "but I think you have been paid for your trouble. Is there anything you would like?" "Three things, sir." "And these?" he asked, while every one looked curiously at me. I was still an unknown quantity. "My hat, my coat, and the way to the door, for I presume you have no further use for me."