The major had drawn a stool inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl beside Ophelia’s chair. Miss Mabel Saker had left them early to their own devices. The green palm with its group of white lilies seemed a species of oasis admirably placed for those who desired to be alone. “Playing golf to-day?” the soldier was saying. “Not bad links, these. Bunkers jolly stiff; regular infernos. I went round in eighty. Play much, eh?” “For health’s sake.” “Nonsense.” “Dr. Glibly’s advice. I am his patient.” “Pardon the remark, but you don’t look delicate.” “Appearances are often fallacious.” “As a matter of fact,” said the major, with confident frankness, “my friend Graham was only saying to me this afternoon that you were the most healthy-looking June rose he had ever seen blooming outside the Callydon pavilion. Now, I come to consider it, you do appear a trifle tired. Shut me up, you know, if you think I’m too personal.” “I prefer frankness,” said Ophelia. Maltravers displayed his white teeth. “It makes life more rational,” he observed. “One always knows how one stands.” The soldier produced a cigarette-case from the pocket of his elaborately braided dinner-coat. The string band in an alcove had struck up the overture to a popular comic opera. A party of girls came in from the vestibule, laughing and chattering, their dresses forming a brilliant mingling of colors under the palms. “Do you mind smoke?” said the man, humming the chorus the band was playing. “Not a bit. My husband smokes everywhere.” “Lucky man. You spoil him, of course. Is he here with you?” “No. He spends his time at home grubbing about in books.” “Nonsense!” “All husbands are spoiled,” said Ophelia. The major elevated his eyebrows and appeared interested. “What cynicism—at your age!” “Oh, I am not so very young.” “Four-and-twenty?” “I did not refer to years, but to experience.” The soldier leaned his elbows on his knees and adopted an attitude that was both respectful and sympathetic. “I am sorry to hear you speak like that,” he said, with a chivalrous and fatherly air. “I hate to hear a woman hint at disappointments.” Ophelia regarded the man interestedly from under her heavy aureole of hair. He seemed a blunt and brotherly person, and his ingenuous sympathy was quite fascinating, rendered to the languid accompaniment of a waltz. “Some men are impossible creatures,” she said, fingering her rings. “For one thing, I was unfortunate in never possessing a brother.” “Healthy friends, brothers,” observed the soldier. “I remember handling a whip once to good purpose. It instilled excellent moral tone into the young cub I chastened. All girls ought to have brothers.” “Excellent in theory.” “I never theorize. A man who has seen much of the world keeps to facts; theory is a perishable commodity. If a woman does not possess a brother by blood she ought to retain one by adoption.” “The thing is to discover him.”