"Never mind the tea," broke in Mrs. Croydon. "I am much more interested in what we were talking about. Mr. Bradish, you can tell us about Count Shimbowski and Alice Endicott." Jack Neligage turned about with a quickness unusual in him. "The Count and Miss Endicott?" he demanded. "What about them? Who's had the impertinence to couple their names?" Mrs. Croydon put up her hands in pretended terror, a hundred tags of ribbon fluttering as she did so. "Oh, don't blame me," she said. "I didn't do it. They're engaged." Neligage regarded her with a glance of vexed and startled disfavor. Then he gave a short, scornful laugh. "What nonsense!" he said. "Nobody could believe that." "But it's true," put in Bradish. "Miss Wentstile herself told me that she had arranged the match, and that I might mention it." Neligage looked at the speaker an instant with a disbelieving smile on his lip; and tossing his head went to lean his elbow on the mantel. "Arranged!" he echoed. "Good heavens! Is this a transaction in real estate?" "Marriage so often is, Mr. Neligage," observed Mrs. Harbinger, with a smile. Bradish began to explain with the solemn air which he had. He was often as obtuse and matter-of-fact as an Englishman, and now took up the establishment of the truth of his news with as much gravity as if he were setting forth a point of moral doctrine. He seemed eager to prove that he had at least been entirely innocent of any deception, and that whatever he had said must be blamelessly credible. "Of course it's extraordinary, and I said so to Miss Wentstile. She said that as the Count is a foreigner, it was very natural for him to follow foreign fashions in arranging the marriage with her instead of with Alice." "And she added, I've no doubt," interpolated Mrs. Harbinger, "that she entirely approved of the foreign fashion." "She did say something of that sort," admitted Bradish, with entire gravity. Mrs. Harbinger burst into a laugh, and trimmed the wick of her tea-lamp. Neligage grinned, but his pleasant face darkened instantly. "Miss Wentstile is an old idiot!" said he emphatically. "Oh, come, Mr. Neligage," remonstrated his hostess, "that is too strong language. We must observe the proprieties of abuse." "And say simply that she is Miss Wentstile," suggested Mrs. Croydon sweetly. The company smiled, with the exception of May, whose face had been growing longer and longer. "I don't care what she says," the girl burst out indignantly; "I don't believe Alice will listen to such a thing for one minute." "Perhaps she won't," Bradish rejoined doubtfully, "but Miss Wentstile is famous for having her own way. I'm sure I shouldn't feel safe if she undertook to marry me off." "She might take you for herself if she knew her power, Mr. Bradish," responded Mrs. Croydon. "No more tea, my dear, thank you." "For Heaven's sake don't mention it then," he answered. "It's enough to have Jack here upset. The news is evidently too much for him."