Brock watched him down the hall. He drew a handful of small coins from his pocket, ruefully looking them over. "Two cents," he said. "Hang it all, I've nothing here but pfennigs and hellers and centimes." In the course of his wanderings the disconsolate Freddie came upon Mrs. Odell-Carney and pudgy Mr. Rodney. They were sitting in a quiet corner of the reading-room. Mr. Rodney had had a hard day. He had climbed a mountain--or, more accurately speaking, he had climbed half-way up and then the same half down. He was very tired. Freddie observed from his lonely station that Mr. Rodney was fast dropping to sleep, notwithstanding his companion's rapid flow of small talk. It did not take Freddie long to decide. He was an outcast and a pariah and he was very lonely. He must have someone to talk to. Without more ado he bore down upon the couple, and a moment later was tactfully advising the sleepy Mr. Rodney to take himself off to bed,--advice which that gentleman gladly accepted. And so it came about that Freddie sat face to face with the last resort, at the foot of the _chaise-longue_, gazing with serene adulation into the eyes of a woman who might have had a son as old as he--if she had had one at all. She had been a coquette in her salad days; there was no doubt of it. She had encountered fervid gallants in all parts of the world and in all stations of life. But it remained for the gallant Freddie Ulstervelt to bowl her over with surprise for the first time in her long and varied career. At the end of half an hour she pulled herself together and tapped him on the shoulder with her fan, a quizzical smile on her lips. "My dear Mr. Ulstervelt, are you trying to make love to me? You nice Americans! How gallant you can be. I am quite old enough to be your mother. Believe me, I thank you for the compliment. I can't tell you how I appreciate this delicate flattery. You are very delicious. But," as she arose graciously, "I'd follow Mr. Rodney's example if I were you. I'd go to bed." Then, with a rare smile which could not have been more chilling, she left him standing there. "By Jove," he muttered, passing his hand across his eyes, as if bewildered, "what was I saying to her? Good Lord, has it got to be a habit with me? Was I making love to--_her_?" He departed for the American bar.