Macheson nodded. "It is only the young who are really wise," he declared coolly. "As we grow older we make fools of ourselves inevitably, either fools or beasts, according to our proclivities. Then we begin to enjoy ourselves." The girl by his side laughed. "I guess you don't mean that," she said. "It sounds smart, but it's real horrid. How old are you, Mr. Macheson?" "Older than I look and younger than I feel," he answered, gazing into his empty glass. "Have you found what you call your proclivities?" she asked. "I am searching for them," Macheson answered. "The trouble is one doesn't know whether to dig or to climb." "Why should one search at all?" the other man asked, drawing out a gold cigarette case from his trousers pocket, and carefully selecting a cigarette. "Life comes easiest to those who go blindfold. I've got a brother, private secretary to a Member of Parliament. He's got views about things, and he makes an awful fag of life. What's the good of it! He'll be an old man before he's made up his mind which way he wants to go. This sort of thing's good enough for me!" The magnum had arrived, and Macheson lifted a foaming glass. "Davenant," he declared, "you are a philosopher. We will drink to life as it comes! To life--as it comes!" They none of them noticed the little break in his voice. A party of newcomers claimed their attention. Macheson, too, had seen them. He had seen her. Like a ghost at the feast, he sat quite motionless, his glass half raised in the air, the colour gone from his cheeks, his eyes set in a hard fast stare. Wilhelmina, in a plain black velvet gown, with a rope of pearls about her neck, her dark hair simply arranged about her pallid, distinguished face, was passing down the room, followed closely by the Earl of Westerdean, Deyes, and Lady Peggy. Her first impulse had been to stop; a light sprang into her eyes, and a delicate spot of colour burned in her cheeks. Then her eyes fell upon his companions; she realized his surroundings. The colour went: the momentary hesitation was gone. She passed on without recognition; Lady Peggy, after a curious glance, did the same. She whispered and laughed in Deyes' ear as they seated themselves at an adjacent table. He looked round behind her back and nodded, but Macheson did not appear to see him. A momentary constraint fell upon the little party. The American young lady leaned over to ask Davenant who the newcomers were. "The elder man," he said, "is the Earl of Westerdean, and the pretty fair woman Lady Margaret Penshore. The other woman is a Miss Thorpe-Hatton. Macheson probably knows more about them than I do!" Macheson ignored the remark. He whispered something in his neighbour's ear, which made her laugh heartily. The temporary check to their merriment passed away. Macheson was soon laughing and talking as much as any of them.