Probably every man likes a reception conceived in this spirit; how fastidious he may be as to the outward and visible form which clothes the spirit depends partly on his nature, probably more on his mood; nobody is always particular, just as nobody is always wise. The dog is fond and uncritical--let us pat the faithful animal. Chance was much more responsive in his manner to Connie than he had ever been before; Connie mounted to heights of delight as she ministered whisky-and-soda. He let her frisk about him and lick his hand, and he conceived, by travelling through a series of contrasts, a high opinion of canine fidelity and admiration. Something he had read somewhere about the relative advantage of reigning in hell also came into his mind, and was dismissed again with a smile as he puffed and sipped. 'Seen anything of Mrs. Trevalla lately?' asked Connie Fricker. 'Not for a week or two,' he answered carelessly. 'Neither have we.' She added, after a pause, and with a laugh that did not sound very genuine, 'Mamma thinks she's dropping us.' 'Does Mrs. Trevalla count much one way or the other?' he asked. But Connie had her wits about her, and saw no reason why she should pretend to be a fool. 'I know more about it than you think, Mr. Chance,' she assured him with a toss of her head, a glint of rather large white teeth, and a motion of her full but (as improved) not ungraceful figure. 'You do, by Jove, do you?' asked Beaufort, half in mockery, half in an admiration she suddenly wrung from him. 'Girls are supposed not to see anything, aren't they?' 'Oh, I dare say you see a thing or two, Miss Connie!' His tone left nothing to be desired in her eyes; she did not know that he had not courted Trix Trevalla like that, that even his brutality towards her had lacked the easy contempt of his present manner. Why give people other than what they want, better than they desire? The frank approval of his look left Connie unreservedly pleased and not a little triumphant. He had been stand-offish before; well, mamma had never given her a 'show'--that was the word which her thoughts employed. When she got one, it was not in Connie to waste it. She leant her elbow on the mantel-piece, holding her cigarette in her hand, one foot on the fender. The figure suffered nothing from this pose. 'I don't know whether you've heard that I'm going to cut politics?--at least office, I mean. I shall stay in the House, for a bit anyhow.' Connie did not hear the whispers of high circles; she received the news in unfeigned surprise. 'There's no money in it,' Beaufort pursued, knowing how to make her appreciate his decision. 'I want more time for business.' 'You'd better come in with papa,' she suggested half-jokingly. 'There are worse ideas than that,' he said approvingly. 'I don't know anything about money, except that I like to have a lot.' Her strong, hearty laughter pealed out in the candid confession.