But he found no encouragement in the swift courtship he attempted; for the Bacchantes, loudly protesting at his interference, banged him over his head and shoulders with their resounding tambourines and danced away unheeding his blandishments. "Flappers," observed a painted and powdered clown whose voice betrayed him as O'Hara; "this town is overstocked with fudge-fed broilers. They're always playin' about under foot, spoilin' your huntin'; and if you touch 'em they ki-yi no end." "I suppose you're looking for Mrs. Leeds," said Westguard, smiling. "I fancy every man here is doin' the same thing," replied the clown. "What's her costume? Do you know, Ironsides?" "I wouldn't tell you if I did," said Westguard frankly. The Harlequin shrugged. "This world," he remarked, "is principally encumbered with women, and naturally a man supposes the choice is unlimited. But as you live to drift from girl to girl you'll discover that there are just two kinds; the kind you can kiss and the kind you can't. So finally you marry the latter. Does Mrs. Leeds flirt?" "Will a fish swim?" rejoined the clown. "You bet she will flirt. Haven't you met her?" "I? No," said the Harlequin carelessly. Which secretly amused both Westguard and O'Hara, for it had been whispered about that the new beauty not only had taken no pains to meet Quarren, but had pointedly ignored an opportunity when the choice lay with her, remarking that dancing men were one of the social necessities which everybody took for granted--like flowers and champagne. And the comment had been carried straight to Quarren, who had laughed at the time--and had never forgotten it, nor the apparently causeless contempt that evidently had inspired it. The clown brandished his bunch of toy balloons, and gazed about him: "Anybody who likes can go and tell Mrs. Leeds that I'm her declared suitor. I don't care who knows it. I'm foolish about her. She's different from any woman I ever saw. And if I don't find her pretty soon I'll smash every balloon over your head, Ricky!" The Harlequin laughed. "Women," he said, "are cut out in various and amusing patterns like animal crackers, but the fundamental paste never varies, and the same pastry cook seasoned it." "That's a sickly and degenerate sentiment," observed Westguard. "You might say that about the unfledged," added O'Hara--"like those kittenish Bacchantes. Winifred Miller and the youngest Vernon girl were two of those Flappers, I think. But there's no real jollity among the satiated," he added despondently. "A mask, a hungry stomach, and empty pockets are the proper ingredients for gaiety--take it from me, Karl." And he wandered off, beating everybody with his bunch of toy balloons. Quarren leaped to the seat of a chair and squatted there drawing his shimmering legs up under him like a great jewelled spider. "Bet you ten that the voluminous domino yonder envelops my aunt, Mrs. Sprowl," whispered Westguard.