"What a shame Nell's not here!" said Rose, breaking the eggs into the chafing-dish. "Then we could have charades. She's simply great when she gets started." "Who is Nell?" asked Quin. "Eleanor Bartlett, our cousin. She's like chicken and ice-cream--the rich Bartletts have her on weekdays and we poor Martels get her only on Sundays. Hasn't Cass ever told you about Nell?" "Do you suppose I spend my time talking about my precious family?" growled Cass. "No, but Nell's different," said Rose; "she's a sort of Solomon's baby--I mean the baby that Solomon had to decide about. Only in this case neither old Madam Bartlett nor Papa Claude will give up their half; they'd see her dead first." "You did tell me about her," said Quin to Cass, "one night when we were up in the Cantigny offensive. I remember the place exactly. Something about an orphan, and a lawsuit, and a little girl that was going to be an actress." "That's the dope," said Cass. "Only she's not a kid any more. She grew up while I was in France. She's a great girl, Nell is, when you get her away from that Bartlett mess!" "Does anybody know where Papa Claude is?" Rose demanded, dexterously ladling out steaming Welsh rabbit on to slices of crisp brown toast. "He is here, _mes enfants_, he is here!" cried a joyous voice from the hall, followed by a presence at once so exuberant and so impressive that Quin stared in amazement. "This is Quinby Graham, grandfather," said Cass, by way of introduction. The dressy old gentleman with the flowing white locks and the white rose in his buttonhole bore down upon Quin and enveloped his hand in both his own. "I welcome you for Cassius' sake and for your own!" he declared with such effusion that Quin was visibly embarrassed. "My grandson has told me of your long siege in the hospital, of your noble service to your country, of your gallant conduct at----" "Sit down, Papa Claude, and finish your oration after supper," cried Rose; "the rabbit won't wait on anybody." Thus cut short, Mr. Martel took his seat and, nothing daunted, helped himself bountifully to everything within reach. "I am a gourmet, Sergeant Graham, but not a gourmand. Edwin Booth used to say----" "Sir?" answered Edwin Booth's namesake from the kitchen, where he had been dispatched for more bread. "No, no, my son, I was referring to----" But Papa Claude, as usual, did not get to finish the sentence. The advent of the next-door neighbor, who had been invited and then forgotten, caused great amusement owing to the fact that there was no more supper left. "Give her some bread and jam, Myrna," said Rose; "and if the jam is out, bring the brown sugar. You don't mind, do you, Fan?" Fan, an amiable blonde person who was going to be fat at forty, declared that she didn't want a thing to eat, honestly she didn't, and that besides she adored bread and brown sugar.