“I still remain unconvinced,” Ethel Cartwright declared obstinately. “I think it was two thoughts for yourself and one for Alice.” “Now, Denby,” Michael cried jocularly, “you’re among friends. Where have you hidden the swag?” “Do tell us,” Nora entreated. “It’d be so nice if you were a criminal and had your picture in the rogues’ gallery. The only criminals I know are those who just run over people in their motors, and that gets so commonplace. Do tell us how you started on a life of crime.” “Nora!” Monty cried reprovingly. Things were increasing his nervousness to a horrible extent. Why wouldn’t they leave smuggling alone? “I’m not interested in your endeavors,” Nora said superciliously. “You’re only a sort of petty larceny smuggler with your silver hair-brushes. Mr. Denby does things on a bigger scale. You’re safe with us, Mr. Denby,” she reminded him. “I know,” he answered, “so safe that if I had any dark secrets to reveal I’d proclaim them with a loud voice.” “That’s always the way,” Nora complained. “Every time I meet a man who seems exciting he turns out to be just a nice man--I hate nice men.” She crossed over to the agitated Monty. “Mr. Denby is a great disappointment to me, too,” Ethel Cartwright confessed. “Couldn’t you invent a new way to smuggle?” “It wasn’t for lack of inventive powers,” he assured her, “it was just respect for the law.” “I didn’t know we had any left in America,” Michael observed, and then added, “but then you’ve lived a lot abroad, Denby.” “Mr. Denby must be rewarded with a cigarette,” Ethel declared, bringing the silver box from the mantel and offering him one. “A cigarette, Mr. Denby?” “Thanks, no,” he answered, “I prefer to roll my own if you don’t mind.” It seemed that the operation of rolling a cigarette was amazingly interesting to the girl. Her eager eyes fastened themselves intently on a worn pigskin pouch he carried. “Can’t you do it with one hand?” she asked disappointedly; “just like cowboys do in plays?” “It seems I’m doomed to disappoint you,” he smiled. “I find two hands barely sufficient.” “Sometime you must roll me one,” she said. “Will you?” “With pleasure,” he returned, lighting his own. “But you don’t smoke,” Alice objected. “Ah, but I’ve been tempted,” she confessed archly. “The only thing that makes my life worth living is yielding to temptation,” Nora observed. “That’s not a bad idea,” Michael said rising. “I’m tempted to take a small drink. Who’ll yield with me and split a pint of Brut Imperial?” “That’s your last drink to-night,” his wife warned him. “I’m not likely to forget it,” he said ruefully. “My wife,” he told the company, “thinks I’m a restaurant, and closes me up at one sharp.” “Let’s have some bridge,” Mrs. Harrington suggested. “Ethel, what do you say?” “I’ve given it up,” she answered. “Why, you used to love it,” Nora asserted, surprised.