"Well, either Uncle did arrive or we'll see her in the Passing Follies week after next, third from the left, in as little as Comstock allows. When I've had a good look at bare arms my judgment connects mighty easily with bare--" By that moment I had poised in my hand a very fragile cup of nicely steaming tea and it was a very natural thing that I should hurl its contents in the face of that Mr. William Raines of the country of Saint Louis. _Voila_! What happened? Did I stay to fight the duel with that, what I know now to call a cad, and thus be put back into the person of the Marquise de Grez and Bye for a wicked Uncle to murder. I did not. I placed upon the table two large pieces of money and I lost myself in the crowd of persons who had risen and gathered to sympathize with poor Mr. Saint Louis. No one had remarked my escape, I felt sure, as I had been very agile, but as I sauntered out into the entresol of the Hotel of Ritz-Carlton, to which I had given so great a shock in its stately tea room, a finger was laid upon my arm in its gray tweed coat. I turned and discovered a very fine and handsome woman standing beside me and in her hand she had a book of white paper with also a pencil. "I was sitting just back of Willie Raines and I heard what he was saying about some woman, whom he and Peter Scudder had met on the boat over, not keeping her appointment with them. Peter is of the Philadelphia elect and nobody knows why he consorts with the gay Willie. I saw them come off the boat together this morning and I knew that the whole Scudder Meeting House would be in a glum over their being together. Would you mind telling me just why you soused your tea into his face? It would make a corking story for my morning edition. Did you know them or did you know the lady or did you do it to be launcelotting?" "I think it must have been for the third of those reasons, Madam, but I am not sure that I know the word you use," I answered with much caution. "Launcelot, you know, the boy that was always fussing around over injured women, in Tennyson or somewhere, just for a love of 'em that was always perfectly proper. Nice of him but not progressive. Say, do you mind sitting down in a quiet corner of the tea room and telling me all about it? Are you French or Russian or Brazilian, and do you believe in women, or is it just because you like 'em that you threw the tea? I've got a suffrage article to do and I believe you'd make a good headline, with your militant tea throwing. Want to tell me all about it?" "I have just one hour before going to the State of Harpeth, many miles from here, Madam," I made answer with a great politeness. "I thank you but I must make my regrets."