But the doctor had risen and now announced very briefly that Lady Coral-Smith had kindly offered to present the prizes to the winners in the various competitions held during the past week; so that brisk little woman, dressed like a Grecian shepherdess, with little white daisies all over her gown, came nodding and smiling to the table and began to hand out various ridiculous presents to the winners in question. Of these, the most conspicuous were the Rider girls, now resplendent in muslin dresses with bright blue bows, and their frequent appearances at the table gave rise to resounding cheers, not unaccompanied by kindly comments of an amiably derisive order. Ian Kavanagh, that golden youth with the flaxen hair, had conducted his conversation chiefly in monosyllables during dinner; but he was a trifle more condescending at this stage, and declared it to be a pity that these accomplished young ladies had not to get their living at the Coliseum!—or other popular resort where acrobatic performances were properly rewarded. He thought that Andana was unworthy of them. "They came here to win pots," he said scornfully. "The man who marries them is sure of a hundred or more _objets d’art_—to say nothing of virtue—all bought in the bazaar for one franc fifty. That ought to console him—" "Is he going to marry them both?" Miss Elizabeth asked. The golden youth smiled. "Two go to a pattern, I suppose. I shouldn’t know one from the other in the dark." "But you’d have to know the one you married!" "Ah, so I should! Why don’t you write a story about it: ’The Bride Who Wasn’t,’ or something of that sort? Kipling would do it finely." "Well, but I’m not Kipling—and here’s Mr. Rivers. Why, of course, we won the doubles together. And is it poor little me they want?—Oh, dear!" There were loud cries for Miss Elizabeth, and she rose, blushing very much at the outburst of cheering which attended her appearance—and obviously a great popular favourite. When she had received one Teddy Bear upon skis from the fat hands of the mayor’s relict, she returned to the table and implored them to make plans for the ghost hunt. "You’re all coming, of course," she said. "We’ll take luges and have coffee at Vermala. If the ghost does not appear for me, he will never appear at all. Now don’t you think so, Mr. Kavanagh?" "Oh, I think whatever the ladies think. Is Mrs. Kennaird coming?" He turned to the "little widow," and the doctor joined in the appeal. She would accompany them, of course. It would be a beautiful moonlight night, and they would come down on luges. It was the very thing to do: and as the amiable doctor said emphatically, so very much better than the outside edge backwards in the ball-room with a partner who could not dance. There could be but one answer to such unanimity.