“But I should say,” I went on, drawing inspiration from my new acquaintance’s sympathetic attention, “I should say it cost our host Sir Tumnal Tintz a pretty penny. The champagne is exactly up to par, and no stint.” “Really, I’m glad to hear you say so.” “Reassuring, isn’t it?” From our point of vantage we could command a full view of the ball-room. The melody of the waltz, the perfume, and the frou-frou of Parisian and Viennese confections had lulled the little man into a delicious reverie. “There,” I said, “you see that old chap who looks as if he had stolen the Eastern Hemisphere and put it under his waistcoat--that explains the fizz!” My friend looked exceedingly puzzled. “That’s Gootzegog--the chap who supplied the wine. Oh, everybody knows Sir Tumnal runs things a bit above his income. Lady Tintz has social ambitions. What’s the consequence? Bills are paid by invitations to meet all the exclusive and celebrated, instead of by coin of the realm. Gootzegog accepted with pleasure--on the back of a receipted bill for six dozen ‘bottles of the boy.’” “Really, this is exceedingly unpl----” “Social sins,” I said. “You’ll know them all by heart by and by. It’s only a question of time. Now, you see that woman hop-waltzing. There, just passed us, high-pitched voice, pearls----” “Yes, yes, but----” “That is Mrs. Grinburger, known in Chatham Street as Juliette & Cie., swagger dressmakers, where Lady Tintz can make up her betting-book, and hedge--by patronising the Grinburger.” “Upon my word!” in astonishment. “Scandalous having to meet these people. And that thin woman bare-ly clothed--ha! ha! excuse my little quip.” “I know----” “Mdlle. Sembrach--bonnets; supplies the Tintz girls with headgear, and is allowed to pass as a friend of the family because she forgets to send in the bill. Convenient, isn’t it? She looks like making a match--or a breach of promise----” “It is incredible,” almost vociferated my little friend, whose eyes I was evidently opening as to the ways and means of a certain, or rather uncertain, class of society. “It is incredible,” he said, “that you should tell me all these scandalous tales in the house where you are privileged----” “Quite so, quite so,” I said, fearing I may have wounded his sensibilities. “One only does this sort of thing when the function is a fizzle. But you appeared to know no one.” “You appear to know everyone----” “A good many. Come, let us have a stroll round and try and find the host.” The little man blinked nervously. “Have you any idea what the Johnny’s like?” I enquired. “Exactly like me,” said the little man. “I am Sir Tumnal Tintz!” * * * * * [Illustration: A HINT _Sir Pompey Bedell._ “Oh--er--Mr. Grigsby, I think! How d’ye do?” _Grigsby._ “I hope I see you well, Sir Pompey. And next time you give me two fingers, I’m blest if I don’t pull ’em off!”] * * * * * [Illustration: TRUTH AT ALL HAZARDS