“A tango, by jove! Think of tangoing right after breakfast! Some one _is_ beginning early. What are we coming to in these degenerate days?” Bob wanted to take her thoughts off that other disagreeable subject. His own sudden and unexpected appearance had, no doubt, been quite upsetting to those other guests. That tango music had a wild irresponsible sound, as if the some one who was banging the concert-grand in the big music salon was endeavoring to turn the general trend of fancy into more symphonious channels. He, or she, was a musical good Samaritan. Bob held out a ceremonious arm to the temperamental young thing. “Shall we?” he said. “Why not?” “You mean—?” “Tango with me? That is, if you are not above tangoing with a—” She slipped an uncertain little hand on his arm. “It may be my last, for a long time,” he said gaily. “While we live, let us live.” But when they entered they saw it was the man with the monocle who sat at the big, wonderfully carved piano. His fingers were fairly flying; his face was a bit more twisted up to keep the monocle from falling off, while he was flinging his hands about over the keys. At sight of him, the temperamental little thing breathed quickly and would have drawn back, but Bob drew her forward. The monocle-man’s face did not change as he glanced over his shoulder to regard them; he had a faculty for hitting the right keys without looking. Bob put a big reassuring arm about a slim waist. He tangoed only to show the temperamental little thing that he forgave her. But her feet were not so light as ordinarily and the dance rather dragged. Once Bob looked down; why, she wasn’t much bigger than a child. “Friends?” he asked. Her little hand clutched tighter for answer, and the monocle-man played more madly. It was as if he were making the puppets fly around while he pulled the strings. He seemed having the best kind of a time. There was now a whimsical look in his eyes as they followed Bob. That was one of the longest days Bob ever knew. The temperamental thing had told him they were coming to arrest him. Well, why didn’t they? His appearing unexpectedly on the spot like that may have caused them to change their minds. He included in the “them” Mrs. Ralston and her niece and he could only conclude they all meant to “dally” with him, in Miss Dolly’s phraseology, a little longer. But surely they had enough evidence to go right ahead and let justice (?) take its course. What the temperamental little thing had confessed would be quite sufficient in itself, for their purpose. Bob began to get impatient; he didn’t like being “dallied” with. In his desperate mood, he desired to meet the issue at once and since “it” was bound to happen, he wanted it to happen right off. Then he would robustly proclaim his innocence—aye, and fight for it with all his might. He was in a fighting mood.