The Countess favored him with one glance through her lorgnettes--a present from the exiled King of Crete--and straightway took her bag and baggage to the hostile camp. For, of course, the young Count Axel was known to Mr. Hopworthy, or at least he so declared. "Please tell me how you won your Order of the Bull," said Clara to the diplomat, her one remaining hope. "I think I mentioned that just now," he answered, and conversation perished. And thus the dinner wore away, a grim succession of demolished triumphs. When after an æon or two Clara gave the signal for retreat, she sought her own reflection in the glass to make sure her hair was still its normal brown. "Clara," said Mrs. Penfield, when the ladies were alone, "you might at least have warned us whom we were to meet." Mrs. Fessenden drew herself erect. Her breath came fast, her eyes were bright, and she had nearly reached the limit of forbearance toward Maude. "Mrs. Penfield--" she began with dignity, but Maude broke in. "I must have been a baby not to have recognized the name." Clara hesitated, checking the word upon her lips, for with her former friend, to be inelegant was to be sincere. "I do not understand," she substituted prudently. "To think, my dear, of you being the first of us to capture Horace Hopworthy and keeping it from me!" cried Maude. "I am sure I mentioned that we hoped to have him," murmured Mrs. Fessenden. "So sweet of you to give us such a surprise, it was most delightful," Lena Livingston drawled. "Your house is always such a Joppa for successful genius," declared Mrs. Ballington, "or is it Mecca? I've forgotten which. How did you come to know he was in town?" "Jack's relatives in Boston always send us the most charming people with letters," answered Clara. "Shall we take coffee on the balcony? The men are laughing so in the smoking-room we can't talk here with any comfort." Later--an hour later--when the last carriage-door had slammed, Jack lit a cigarette and said: "That Hoppy fellow seemed to make a hit." Clara yawned. "Yes, he was rather a fortunate discovery," she said, "but, Jack, we really ought to take a literary magazine." THE MAN WITHOUT A PENSION He was a dapper little man with a gray pointed beard, and he wore knickerbockers and russet hunting gaiters, nearly new. A jaunty Alpine hat was perched upon his head, and as he pursued his cautious way along the cañon's edge it would be hard to fancy anyone less in touch with his surroundings. He seemed uncertain of the trail, mistrustful of himself, or unaccustomed to mountain atmosphere, for within the last hundred yards of the camp he paused in every dozen steps to listen or to recover breath.