As Francis flecked the dust from his clothes and came forward, a ray of the headlight fell directly upon Margaret's face. "I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Van Courtland before," he said, without a moment's hesitation.
"I beg your pardon," said Margaret uncertainly,—"I cannot remember——" Then as the light fell upon his tall form, handsome face, and dark, grave eyes, she gave a little gasp, and floundered helplessly in a sea of words. "Why,—I had no idea!—of course, we met in Cologne,—that is, we both fell in the mud!—Miss Billy, this is the Count!"
On a lawn seat, in the flare of the campaign torches, Mr. Hennesy, a glass of lemonade in hand, held forth to a bevy of Miss Van Courtland's fashionable friends on the superiority of masculine intellect as compared to that of woman.
"Sure an' phwat if a man cut off th' top av his coat, an' sewed it onto th' lig av his pants, to thrail in th' mud afther 'im? Sure an' wudn't ye be afther thinkin' he was crazy? Answer me thot, now?"
"Why, of course we would," answered the girls in a breath. "But then, Mr. Hennesy, we don't——"
"Wait now," said Mr. Hennesy, holding up one finger triumphantly. "Be aisy a bit. There's one p'int scored fer th' masculoine moind! Now thin,—phwat if I sh'ud be afther comin' here to-noight wid a feather shtuck up in me hair, or a gould buttherfly hoverin' over me forehead, th' same as ye have? Wudn't ye be afther thinkin' me brain no heavier than me head-dress? Answer me thot, now."
"It certainly would look funny," admitted the girls laughingly.
"There's two p'ints scored fer th' masculoine moind!" counted off Mr. Hennesy. "An' now,—if besides havin' a feather or a buttherfly in me head, I'd be daubin' me face wid red paint——"