"Renier," he said, "is one of the few really eligible young men I know. That is why I asked him up here. I don't mean that my intention was match-making, but when I saw your picture in the advertisement, I said to myself: 'The Inn is no place for attractive scalawags. Any man that goes there on my invitation must be sound, morally and financially.' Young Renier is as innocent of anything evil as Miss Lee herself. If they take a fancy to each other--of course it's none of my business, but, my dear Miss Darling--why not?" "Coffee?" "Thanks." "An egg?" "Please." Mary was very tactful. She never said: "_Some more_ coffee?" She never said: "_Another_ egg?" "Some people," said Mr. Langham, smiling happily, "might say that _we_ were getting too chummy." "Suppose," said Mary, "that somebody did say just that?" "I should reply," said Mr. Langham thoughtfully, "that of the few really eligible men that I know, I myself am, on the whole, the most eligible." Mary laughed. "Construe," she said. "In the first place," he continued, "and naming my qualifications in the order of their importance, I don't ever remember to have spoken a cross word to anybody; secondly, unless I have paved a primrose path to ultimate indigestion and gout, there is nothing in my past life to warrant mention. To be more explicit, I am not in a position to be troubled by--er--'old agitations of myrtle and roses'; third, something tells me that in a time of supreme need it would be possible for me to go to work; and, fourth, I have plenty of money--really plenty of money." Mary smiled almost tenderly. "I can't help feeling," she said, "that I, too, am a safe proposition. I am twenty-nine. My wild oats have never sprouted. I think we may conclude that they were never sown. The Inn was my idea--mostly, though I say it that shouldn't. And The Inn is going to be a success. We could fill every room we've got five times--at our own prices." "I pronounce your bill of health sound," said Mr. Langham. "Let us continue to be chummy." "Coffee?" "Thanks." Whatever chance there may have been for Gay and Pritchard to get "too chummy"--and no one will deny that they had made an excellent start--was promptly knocked in the head by Arthur. It so happened that, in a desperately unguarded moment, when Arthur happened to be present, Pritchard mentioned that he had spent a whole winter in the city of Peking. The name startled Arthur as might the apparition of a ghost. "Which winter?" he asked. "I mean, what year?" Pritchard said what year, and added, "Why do you ask?" Arthur had not meant to ask. He began a long blush, seeing which Gay turned swift heels and escaped upon a suddenly ejaculated pretext. "Why," said Arthur lamely, "I knew some people who were in Peking that winter--that's all." "Then," said Pritchard, "we have mutual friends. I knew every foreigner in Peking. There weren't many."