himself to the more serious occupation of eating.
Mr. Quelch shook a gloomy head.
"There is no romance in heaven," said Drewitt. "That is why marriages are made there."
"Romance as you understand it," said Mr. Quelch, looking at Lola. "No; the great romance is on the Other Side."
"The shady side," suggested Drewitt; but Mr. Quelch again shook his head with an air of settled gloom, as he proceeded to attack the pêche Melba before him.
"Oh, dear!" said Lola, "everybody seems to be either gloomy or cynical. There's auntie and Mr. Quelch half in the other world, and Lord Drewitt and Mr. Beresford trying to prick every bubble in this. Poor me," she cried in simulated despair. "I feel like a child who sees its toys being destroyed before its very eyes. You make me feel I shall never have a beautiful idea or feeling again."
"My dear Miss Craven," said Mr. Quelch, swallowing a lump of ice in such haste that his Adam's apple darted about wildly, "my dear Miss Craven."
Drewitt gazed across at Mr. Quelch, who had once more become engrossed with his pêche Melba.
Beresford pictured Mr. Quelch dashing after Lola on the sands at Folkestone as he had done a few days previously. He smiled.
"Why are you smiling, Mr. Beresford?" she asked. "Won't you share the joke with us?"
"Richard is a joke unto himself," said Drewitt, unconsciously coming to the rescue. "He's the only
