something better to do, stopped in front of that confounded placard and began reading it aloud. Now I don't mind being described as "Tall, strong, well-built, and extremely good-looking; brown eyes and waving hair like ilk; carries himself with distinction;" but I grue at being set down as a common cutpurse, especially when I had taken the trouble to send back Sir Robert's jewelry at some risk to myself. "Wonder what Montagu has done with himself," queried Beauclerc after Selwyn had finished. "Or what Volney has done with him," muttered March behind his hand. "I'll lay two to one in ponies he never lives to cross another man." "You're wrong, March, if you think Volney finished him. He's alive all right. I heard it from Denman that he got safe across to France. Pity Volney didn't pink the fellow through the heart for his d----d impudence in interfering; not that I can stand Volney either, curse the popinjay!" snarled Craven sourly. "If Montagu reaches the continent, 'twill be a passover the Jews who hold his notes will not relish," suggested Selwyn in his sleepy way. A pink-and-white-faced youth shimmering in cream satin was the animated heart of another group. His love for scandal and his facility for acquiring the latest tidbit made him the delight of many an old tabby cat. Now his eyes shone with the joy of imparting a delicious morsel. "Egad, then, you're all wrong," he was saying in a shrill falsetto. "Stap me, the way of it was this! I have it on the best of authority and it comes direct, rot me if it doesn't! Sir Robert's man, Watkins, told Madame Bellevue's maid, from whom it came straight to Lord Pam's fellow and through him to old Methuselah, who mentioned it to----" "You needn't finish tracing the lineage of the misinformation. We'll assume it began with Adam and ended with a dam--with a descendant of his," interrupted Craven with his usual insolence. "Now out with the lie!" "'Pon honour, Craven, 'tis gospel truth," gasped Pink-and-White. "Better send for a doctor then. If he tries to tell the truth for once he'll strangle," suggested Selwyn whimsically to March. "Spit it out then!" bullied Craven coarsely. "Oh, Lard! Your roughness gives me the flutters, Sir James. I'm all of a tremble. Split me, I can't abide to be scolded! Er-- Well, then, 'twas a Welsh widow they fought about--name of Gwynne and rich as Croesus--old enough to be a grandmother of either of 'em, begad! Volney had first claim and Montagu cut in; swore he'd marry her if she went off the hooks next minute. They fought and Montagu fell at the first shot. Next day the old Begum ran off with her footman. That's the story, you may depend on't. Lud, yes!" "You may depend on its being wrong in every particular," agreed Lady Di coolly. "You'd better tell the story, 'Toinette. They'll have it a hundred times worse." "Oh Lard! Gossip about my future husband. Not I!" giggled that lively young woman. "Don't be a prude, miss!" commanded the Dowager Countess sharply. "'Tis to stifle false reports you tell it." "Slidikins! An you put it as a duty," simpered the young beauty. "'Twould seem that--it would appear--the story goes that-- Do I blush?--that Sir Robert-- Oh, let Lady Di tell it!" Lady Di came to scratch with the best will in the world. "To correct a false impression then; for no other reason I tell it save to kill worse rumours. Everybody knows I hate scandal." "'Slife, yes! Everybody knows that," agreed Craven, leering over at March. "Sir Robert Volney then was much taken with a Scotch girl who was visiting in London, and of course she dreamed air castles and fell in love with him. 'Twas Joan and Darby all the livelong day, but alack! the maid discovered, as maids will, that Sir Robert's intentions were--not of the best, and straightway the blushing rose becomes a frigid icicle. Well, this Northern icicle was not to be melted, and Sir Robert was for trying the effect of a Surrey hothouse. In her brother's absence he had the maid abducted and carried to a house of his in town." "'Slife! A story for a play. And what then?" cried Pink-and-White. "Why then--enter Mr. Montagu with a 'Stay, villain!' It chanced that young Don Quixote was walking through the streets for the cooling of his blood mayhap, much overheated by reason of deep play. He saw, he followed, at a fitting time he broke into the apartment of the lady. Here Sir Robert discovered them----" "The lady all unready, alackaday!" put in the Honourable Isabel, from behind a fan to hide imaginary blushes. "Well, something easy of attire to say the least," admitted Lady Di placidly. "I' faith then, Montagu must make a better lover than Sir Robert," cried March.. . . . . . .