"Noble fellow," said Gates. "Have another cigarette!" "Stay! I have heard that they are worse than liquor," objected Mrs. Gloame. "I don't know but you are right," supplemented Gates. "But I must have some sort of a vice, dear," pleaded poor Godfrey. "Vice may be fashionable on earth, but if that's the case it was fashion that ruined us, you'll remember, Godfrey," she reminded him. "That's worth thinking about," mused Garrison. "There is something deep in that observation. You spooks are--" "'Spooks!" cried the Gloames, arising in deep resentment. "I mean shades," apologised Gates. "You do say--" "Pardon me," interrupted Godfrey, nervously, "but can you tell me what time it is?" "Ten minutes after twelve, sir." "Oh, we must be going," cried Mrs. Gloame. "What's the rush?" demanded Gates. "We cannot stay out after twelve-fifteen, sah. We get an extra fifteen minutes on Christmas Eve, you know," explained Godfrey. "We are led to believe that you stay out till the cock crows," said Gates. "Oh, these absurd superstitions," cried Mrs. Gloame merrily. "How ignorant the people are. Are you going my way, Godfrey?" "Yes, dear, and I care not what the direction may be. Good-night, Mr. Garrison." "Good-night," added the beautiful Mrs. Gloame, "and a Merry Christmas. I sincerely hope we have not annoyed you." "I have never enjoyed anything so hugely. No one will believe me when I tell this story at the club. Merry Christmas to both of you. You'll come again, won't you?" They were at the door and looking back at him. "If you care to come to the room in the south wing, you will find me there at most any time, Mr. Garrison," was her parting invitation. Gates was positive he heard Godfrey swear softly as they glided away in the darkness. And no one did believe him when he told the story at the club. WHEN GIRL MEETS GIRL