When the portiere fell behind him, she locked her hands, grieving that all she could give him was an ephemeral flower. How many men had turned from her in this wise, even as she began to depend upon them for their friendships! The dark room oppressed her and she stepped out once more into the silver of moonshine. Have you ever beheld a lovely woman fondle a lovely rose? She drew it, pendent on its slender stem, slowly across her lips, her eyes shining mistily with waking dreams. She breathed in the perfume, then cupped the flower in the palm of her hand and pressed it again and again to her lips. A long white arm stretched outward and upward toward the moon, and when it withdrew the hand was empty. Warburton, hidden behind the vines, waited until she was gone, and then hunted in the grass for the precious flower. On his hands and knees he groped. The dew did not matter. And when at last he found it, not all the treasures of the fabled Ophir would have tempted him to part with it. It would be a souvenir for his later days. As he rose from his knees he was confronted by a broad-shouldered, elderly man in evening clothes. The end of a cigar burned brightly between his teeth. "I'll take that flower, young man, if you please." Warburton's surprise was too great for sudden recovery. "It is mine, Colonel," he stammered. The colonel filliped away his cigar and caught my butler roughly by the arm. "Warburton, what the devil does this mean--a lieutenant of mine peddling soup around a gentleman's table?" XIX "OH, MISTER BUTLER!" Warburton had never lacked that rare and peculiar gift of immediately adapting himself to circumstances. To lie now would be folly, worse than useless. He had addressed this man at his side by his military title. He stood committed. He saw that he must throw himself wholly on the colonel's mercy and his sense of the humorous. He pointed toward the stables and drew the colonel after him; but the colonel held back. "That rose first; I insist upon having that rose till you have given me a satisfactory account of yourself." Warburton reluctantly surrendered his treasure. Force of habit is a peculiar one. The colonel had no real authority to demand the rose; but Warburton would no more have thought of disobeying than of running away. "You will give it back to me?" "That remains to be seen. Go on; I am ready to follow you. And I do not want any dragging story, either." The colonel spoke impatiently. Warburton led him into his room and turned on the light. The colonel seated himself on the edge of the cot and lighted a fresh cigar. "Well, sir, out with it. I am waiting." Warburton took several turns about the room. "I don't know how the deuce to begin, Colonel. It began with a joke that turned out wrong." "Indeed?"--sarcastically. "Let me hear about this joke."