Evidently Jack's aunt's acquaintance was being drawn out, encouraged to display himself, made a butt of, in point of fact! This came from taking Maude Penfield into her confidence. There was always a streak of something not exactly nice in Maude. As Clara, with her mind's eye, saw the broad Hopworthian mouth in active operation, she felt--the feminine instinct in such matters is unerring--that Butler Penfield cherished every phrase for future retaliation at the club, and Lena Livingston, who never laughed, was laughing. After all, if foreigners are often dull, at least they have no overmastering sense of humor. "My Order of the Bull was given me at twenty-six," the Envoy was relating, and though the story was a long one, Clara listened to it all with swimming eyes. "Diplomacy is full of intrigue as an egg of meat," it ended, and once more Mr. Walker looked up hopefully. Again the hostess forced herself to turn with semblance of attention to her right. But Mr. Hopworthy did not appear to notice the concession. He did not appear to notice anything. He was haranguing, actually haranguing, oblivious that all within the hearing of his resonant voice regarded him with open mockery. Jack in the distance, too far away to apprehend the truth, exhibited his customary unconcern, for Jack's ideals were satisfied if at his table people only ate enough and talked. And perhaps it was as well Jack did not comprehend. "To illustrate," the orator was saying--fancy a man who says "to illustrate." "This wine is, as we may say, dyophysitic"--here Mr. Hopworthy held up his glass and looked about him whimsically--"possessed of dual potentialities containing germs of absolute antipathies--" Even Jack, could he have heard, must have resented the suggestion of germs in his champagne. "Perhaps you would rather have some Burgundy with your duck," suggested Mrs. Fessenden with heroic fortitude, and Mr. Hopworthy checked his train of thought at once. "Aye, Madam," he rejoined, "there you revive an ancient controversy." "I am sure I did not mean to," Clara said regretfully, and Mr. Hopworthy smiled his most open smile. "A controversy," drawled Lena Livingston, "how very odd!" "It was indeed," assented Mr. Hopworthy, and went on: "Once, as you know, the poets of Reims and Beaune waged war in verse over the respective claims of the blond wine and the brunette, and so bitter grew the fight that several provinces sprang to arms, and Louis the Fourteenth was forced to go to war to keep the peace." It was pure malice in Maude to show so marked an interest in a statement so absurd, and it was fiendish in the rest to encourage Mr. Hopworthy. Even the most insistent talker comes in time to silence if nobody listens. "Oh, M. Hop--Hop--Hopgood," cried the Countess, "if you are a savant, perhaps you know my Axel!" "And have you taken out a patent for your axel?" asked the diplomat, whose mind reverted to mechanics.