"Nice answer," said Wright critically, "quite emotional, but open to argument. Of course men tire of life. Some of them commit suicide, some of them drink, others get married! The remedy is entirely according to temperament." "Horrid man!" said Mercedes, pouting. And answering amiably, "Am I not?" Wright guided her to the bridge table, having persuaded her at dinner that, with him as partner, she could trump his ace to her heart's content. As we followed them, Bill said, very low, "Remember--not to go out alone, Mavis." "I'll remember," I answered, non-committally, and we sat down to the cards. It was interesting to observe that Mercedes, her previous assertions to the contrary, played a much better game than any of us, excepting, perhaps, Bill. So, after all, it had been from choice and not lack of knowledge, that she had not joined the game the night of the dinner. Which looked as if someone else had been manoeuvering besides myself. But I forgave her. She was so pretty that one could not expect her to always play quite "according to Hoyle." CHAPTER XVI I arrived in the kitchen the following morning, to discuss luncheon with Norah, and found the entire kitchen-force massed at the screened-door, watching Mercedes coquetting with Arthur. There was a temptation to draw an analogy between the brilliantly-plumaged, addle-pated bird and the decorative girl who stood at the cage-door, poking her white fingers perilously through the wiring and cooing to him in softest Spanish. It must be admitted, that weeks of painstaking effort on my part to win Arthur to a display of friendliness toward me, had resulted in nothing. But ten minutes with Mercedes had proved his undoing: the bird was positively maudlin. I came out to the cage, and at once the half-closed orbs of Arthur underwent an unflattering change. He opened them to their widest and bleakest and said, hoarsely sarcastic, "Pretty darling! Darling! Bow-wow-wow! Carramba!" at which Mercedes exclaimed delightedly, "Oh, isn't he clever! Who taught him that?" "The swearing, or the pet names?" I answered, stooping to say goodmorning to Wiggles, "I haven't the remotest idea." "Billy?" suggested my guest, touching her perfectly dressed hair with highly manicured finger-tips. "Possibly," I answered. "He invariably barks and then swears at me, before luncheon." "Billy or Arthur?" inquired Mercedes with interest. I laughed. "Have you seen either of the men this morning?" I asked. "I heard them go out early." "They went to Crowell's," she answered. "I saw them off. They will not be back before tea, Billy told me." I tried to look as if I had heard these plans before, and merely forgotten them for a moment. "How nice!" I said, insincerely, "We will have a nice, long day together--with no disturbing male element," I added maliciously.