"I don't see why the colonel didn't invite some of the ladies," Mrs.

Harrigan complained.

"It's a man-party. He's giving it to please himself. And I do not blame

him. The women about here treat him abominably. They come at all times of

the day and night, use his card-room, order his servants about, drink his

whisky and smoke his cigarettes, and generally invite themselves to

luncheon and tea and dinner. And then, when they are ready to go back to

their villas or hotel, take his motor-boat without a thank-you. The

colonel has about three thousand pounds outside his half-pay, and they are

all crazy to marry him because his sister is a countess. As a bachelor he

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can live like a prince, but as a married man he would have to dig. He told

me that if he had been born Adam, he'd have climbed over Eden's walls long

before the Angel of the Flaming Sword paddled him out. Says he's always

going to be a bachelor, unless I take pity on him," mischievously.

"Has he...?" in horrified tones.

"About three times a visit," Nora admitted; "but I told him that I'd be a

daughter, a cousin, or a niece to him, or even a grandchild. The latter

presented too many complications, so we compromised on niece."

"I wish I knew when you were serious and when you were fooling."

"I am often as serious when I am fooling as I am foolish when I am

serious...."

"Nora, you will have me shrieking in a minute!" despaired the mother. "Did

the colonel really propose to you?"

"Only in fun."

Celeste laughed and threw her arm around the mother's waist, less ample

than substantial. "Don't you care! Nora is being pursued by little devils

and is venting her spite on us."

"There'll be too much Burgundy and tobacco, to say nothing of the awful

stories."

"With the good old padre there? Hardly," said Nora.

Celeste was a French woman. "I confess that I like a good story that isn't

vulgar. And none of them look like men who would stoop to vulgarity."

"That's about all you know of men," declared Mrs. Harrigan.

"I am willing to give them the benefit of a doubt."

"Celeste," cried Nora, gaily, "I've an idea. Supposing you and I run back

after dinner and hide in the card-room, which is right across from the

dining-room? Then we can judge for ourselves."

"Nora Harrigan!"

"Molly Harrigan!" mimicked the incorrigible. "Mother mine, you must learn

to recognize a jest."

"Ah, but yours!"

"Fine!" cried Celeste.

As if to put a final period to the discussion, Nora began to hum audibly

an aria from Aïda.

They engaged a carriage in the village and were driven up to the villa. On

the way Mrs. Harrigan discussed the stranger, Edward Courtlandt. What a

fine-looking young man he was, and how adventurous, how well-connected,

how enormously rich, and what an excellent catch! She and Celeste--the one

innocently and the other provocatively--continued the subject to the very

doors of the villa. All the while Nora hummed softly.




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