“My dear man,” said the nobleman, “that is just where you Americans are wrong. You comfort yourself with your eternal ‘Dan’s all right,’ and you won’t see the truth. You won’t breathe the word ‘scandal’ and yet you are thick enough in them, God knows. You won’t admit them, but they are there. Now be honest and look at the truth, will you? You are a man of common sense. Dan Blair is _not_ all right. He is in an infernally dangerous position. The Duchess of Breakwater will marry him. It is what she has wanted to do for years, but she has not found a man rich enough, and she will marry this boy offhand.” “Well,” said the Westerner slowly, “if he loves her and if he marries her—” “Marries her!” exclaimed the nobleman. “There you are again! Do you think marriage makes it any better? Why, if she went off to the Continent with him for six weeks and then set him free, that would be preferable to marrying her. My dear man,” he said, leaning over the table where Ruggles sat, “if I had a boy I would rather have him marry Letty Lane of the Gaiety. Now you know what I mean.” Ruggles’ face, which had hardened, relaxed. “I have seen that lady,” he exclaimed with satisfaction; “I have seen _her_ several times.” Galorey sank back into his chair and neither man spoke for a few seconds. Turning it all over in his slow mind, Ruggles remembered Dan’s absorption in the last few days. “So there are three women in the nest,” he concluded thoughtfully, and Gordon Galorey repeated: “No, not three. What do you mean?” “Your wife”—Ruggles held up one finger and Galorey interrupted him to murmur: “I’ll take care of Edith.” “The Duchess of Breakwater you think won’t talk of money?” “No, don’t count on it. She is aiming at ten million pounds.” Ruggles was holding up the second finger. “Well, I guess Dan has gone out to take care of _her_ to-day.” Dan and Ruggles had seen _Mandalay_ from a box, from the pit and from the stalls. On the table lay a book of the opera. While talking with Galorey, Ruggles had unconsciously arranged the checks on top of the libretto of _Mandalay_. “_I’ll_ take care of Miss Lane,” Ruggles said at length. His lordship echoed, “Miss Lane?” and looked up in surprise. “What Miss Lane, for God’s sake?” “Miss Letty Lane at the Gaiety,” Ruggles answered. “Why, she isn’t in the question, my dear man.” “You put her there just now yourself.” “Bosh!” Galorey exclaimed impatiently, “I spoke of her as being the limit, the last thing on the line.” “No,” corrected the other, “you put the Duchess of Breakwater as the limit.” Galorey smiled frankly. “You are right, my dear chap,” he accepted, “and I stand by it.” A page boy knocked at the door and came in holding out on a salver a card for Mr. Ruggles, and at the interruption Galorey rose and invited Ruggles to go out with him that night to Osdene. “Lady Galorey will be delighted.” But Ruggles shook his head. “The boy is coming back here to-night,” and Galorey laughed.