such a hope was lost it was a time for special tact. "You, at any rate, dear boy, saw Jean go?"
"Oh, yes—I saw Jean go."
"And you understood from her that Rose and Effie went with Vidal?"
Paul consulted his memory. "I think Mr. Vidal went first."
Tony thought a moment. "Thanks so much, old chap." Then with an exaggerated gaiety that might have struck his companions had it not been the sign of so much of his conversation: "They're all a jolly party in the garden together. I'll go over."
Mrs. Beever had been watching the bridge. "Here comes Rose—she'll tell us."
Tony looked, but their friend had already dropped on the hither side, and he turned to Paul. "You wouldn't object—a—to dining———?"
"To meet Mr. Vidal?" Mrs. Beever interposed. "Poor Paul," she laughed, "you're between two fires! You and your guest," she said to her neighbour, "had better dine here."
"Both fires at once?"—Tony smiled at her son. "Should you like that better?"
Paul, where he stood, was lost in the act of
