"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Gartney," said Victoria, pausing before him with a gay smile on her lips.
"They're not worth it," replied Eustace, looking approvingly at the charming girl before him, in her dainty white dinner dress, with a bunch of vividly scarlet geraniums at her breast. "I'll sell them as bankrupt stock."
"Haw! haw! haw!" from the Master, who was in that pleasant frame of mind when everything seems to scintillate with wit--but then it was after dinner, and a pretty woman was at his elbow. Wine, wit, and feminine influence, really the worst-tempered man would feel pleasant with such a delightful trinity.
"My dear Master," said Eustace reprovingly, "your mirth is complimentary, but rather noisy--will you not be seated, Miss Sheldon?"
"Thank you," replied Victoria, sitting down in a chair under the shadow of a myrtle tree, the light from a distant lamp striking full on her piquant face. "I am rather tired."
"Of walking, or the Master?" asked the cynic gruffly.
She flashed a brilliant glance on him out of the dusky shadow, and spread her red feather fan with a grand wave of irresistible coquetry.
"Mr. Macjean," she said lightly as he sank into a chair opposite to her, and leaned his arms on the cold marble of the table, "What do you think?"
"Eh," observed the Master obtusely. "Oh, I think the same as you."
"Then," remarked Eustace, re-lighting his cigarette, "you cannot object to that diplomatic reply. Do you mind my smoking?'