"No, they're worse," said Delp lightly. "Put on your diamonds and go through Victoria like that young person in Moore's song, 'Rich and rare were the gems she wore,' you won't be treated as well, I promise you." "I'm afraid I'm very careless of my diamonds," laughed Kitty; "I certainly take them home from the theatre every night, but I generally put the case safely away in the drawer of my looking-glass." "A very safe place," observed Lazarus approvingly; "for illustration see Poe's story of 'The Purloined Letter.'" "All the same, I wouldn't trust to fiction for suggestions," said Fenton gaily; "some night you'll be minus your jewels." "I'll take the risk," retorted Kitty rising. "I'm going into the drawing-room. Mr. Lazarus, you come also. I have got the score of that new opera-bouffé 'Eblis,' and I want you to try it." "Bah! a failure in town," growled Mortimer. "That doesn't necessarily mean a failure in Melbourne," replied Kitty, and with this parting shot she went away, followed by the ladies and Ezra Lazarus. Keith remained behind, and, lighting a fresh cigarette, listened to the conversation, which was now slightly horsey. "I know what's going to win the cup. "Never knew a man who didn't." "This is true, 'Devil-may-care.'" "An outsider." "They generally win, but don't prophesy too soon." "No, or like Casandra, your prophecies won't be believed." "Who is Casandra--another dark 'un?" "No--a woman." "Talking about women, I wish you'd get more chorus girls, Mortimer." "Got quite enough." "Of course--quantity, not quality." "They've been snubbing you?" "Wrong again; they never snub any one who can give them diamonds." "Which you can't." "No, by Jove. I wish I had some myself--say Caprice's." "Don't grudge them to her, dear boy--the savings of years." Every one grinned. Meanwhile, Keith grew tired of this scintillating talk, and leaving Ezra rattling away at a gallop in the drawing-room, he arose and went out into the hall. Glancing carelessly up the stairs, he saw a little figure in white coming down. "Why, Meg," said Keith, going to the foot of the stairs to receive her, "what are you doing at this hour of the night?" "Meg wants mumsey," said the child, putting her arms round his neck. "Mumsey's busy," replied Keith, lifting her up. "I'll take you back to bed, dear." "Don't want to go to bed," said the child, though she could hardly keep her eyes open. Keith laughed, and rocked her slowly to and fro in his arms for a few minutes, humming softly till Meg grew tired. "Will Meg go to bed now?" he whispered, seeing she had closed her eyes. "Yes! Meg's sleepy." Keith went upstairs with the quiet little figure in his arms, and seeing an open door leading to a room in which there was a subdued light, caused by the lowering of the gas, he went in, and finding Meg's cot, placed her in it, and tucked her carefully in. "Good-night, dear," he whispered, kissing her.