And poor Monty, although to him had fallen the honor of taking in his hostess, was paying no sort of attention to her sallies. Nora glanced at him and then looked up at Denby. “I’m really awfully fond of Monty, and I’m worried--if you’ll believe it--because he seems upset. Monty,” she called, “what’s the matter with you, and what are you thinking about?” “Frogs,” he said promptly. “We’ll have some to-morrow,” Michael observed amiably. “They induce in me a most remarkable thirst, so I keep off them on that account.” “He’s thinking,” Denby reminded her, “of the old song, ‘A frog he would a-wooing go!’ I’ve heard of you often enough, Miss Rutledge, from Monty.” “Well, I wish you’d started being confidential with the _hors d’œuvres_,” she said, “instead of waiting until dessert. If you had, by this time you’d probably have been really amusing.” She rose at Mrs. Harrington’s signal and followed her from the room. “What I can’t see,” observed she, “is why we didn’t stay and have our cigarettes with the men.” “I always leave them together,” Alice Harrington said with a laugh, “because that’s the way to get the newest naughty stories. Michael always tells ’em to me later.” “Alice!” cried Nora with mock reproof. “Oh, I like ’em,” Alice declared, “when they’re really funny, and so does everybody else. Besides, nowadays it’s improper to be proper. Cigarette, Ethel?” Miss Cartwright shook her head. “You know I don’t smoke,” she returned. Nora lighted a cigarette unskilfully. “That’s so old-fashioned,” she said, in her most sophisticated manner, “and I’d rather die than be that.” She coughed as she drew in a fragrant breath of Egyptian tobacco. “I do wish, though, that I really enjoyed smoking.” “What do you think of our new friend, Mr. Denby?” Alice asked of her. “I like him in spite of the fact that he hardly noticed me. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ethel.” “I saw that myself,” Mrs. Harrington returned. “You know, Ethel, I meant him to take you in to dinner, but Nora insisted that she sit next to him. She’s such a man-hunter!” “You bet I am,” the wise Nora admitted--“that’s the only way you can get ’em.” Mrs. Harrington turned to Ethel Cartwright. “Didn’t you and Mr. Denby have a tiny row? You hardly spoke to him through dinner.” “Didn’t I?” the girl answered. “I’ve a bit of a headache.” “I’ll bet they had a lovers’ quarrel before dinner,” Nora hazarded. Alice Harrington arched her eyebrows in surprise. “A lovers’ quarrel!” “Certainly,” Nora insisted. “I’m sure Ethel is in love with him.” “How perfectly ridiculous,” Ethel said, with a trace of embarrassment in her manner. “Don’t be so silly, Nora. I met him for a week in Paris, that’s all, and I found him interesting. He had big talk as well as small, but as for love--please don’t be idiotic!” “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” laughed her hostess.