“He was one of your good fellows--always the fine gentleman--with as keen an eye on his dignity as--a--colonial bishop. Nevertheless, he was rather like you.” He sniggered, and came closer to Pangbutt; gazing at him hazily he added: “You’ll excuse me, but I’ve quite forgotten the point--and I can’t remember your name.... We have not been formally introduced--there is that excuse for us.... Oh, ah, yes, though--I remember--to be sure--(hic)--yes. He stood just about your height--he was a good-looking fellow--whee-hew--better-looking fellow than you.... Of course--that’s strictly between you and me and”--he swept his hand towards the silent others--“and pandlemonium!... Looked like a poet--but his brain was--mostly--self-respect.... That was _it_--_he_ looked a man--_I_ was wholly insignificant.... _He_ had the grand manner--_I_ didn’t give a slop-can for manners. Never did. Always had a positive idioshincrasy against dancing-masters--except for dancing.... Of course,” he added slowly, gazing with heavy eyes into the past--“of course when a woman appeared on the scene, he--cut me out--hiccup----” A sneer came to Pangbutt’s pale lips: “Indeed!” said he. “Such modesty----” “Sit down, Blotte,” roared the sculptor, Rippley. The poor drunken fellow took no slightest notice of the interruption, but continued his tale: “Of course--it was easy enough. It wasn’t worth scoring the trick. But--he was a shabby devil--though he stood just about your height....” He whistled aimlessly.... “About this time, what d’you think? the fellow got into the Embassy set--hiccup--God knows how!... Don’t ask me.... The Baddlesmeres were connected with Embassy people--and the fellow got a footing.... Cæsar was always ambitious.... So he dropped Kate Ormsby--poor little devil!... She was such a pretty creature--and I spent the rest of my youth in telling her that the fellow would come back to her--God forgive me!...” Pangbutt shifted uneasily; but his cynical voice showed no uneasiness: “Really,” said he coldly--“your biography is not without romance, Mr. Blotte.” “Quite so,” said Blotte. “She sings outside taverns now.... I consider it a most damned unladylike thing to do.... Saw her--last winter--snow on ground--and formally asked her hand in marriage--hiccup. But,” he smiled, “she--hiccup--she said I wasn’t sober.... Rather bad taste of her, I thought----” The man-servant entered the room with the glasses on a tray; Fluffy Reubens nudged Rippley, and jerked his thumb towards Blotte. “Sit down, Blotte,” cried Fluffy Reubens--“and dry up.” “Aha!” cried Rippley--“the glasses, gentlemen! Blotte, I give you better advice--come and be moistened.” The drunken man nodded to his host: “You’ll excuse me,” he said; and he strolled off unsteadily towards the glasses.