“Is he to bring any qualifications besides a magnetic attraction for taxis?”
“Waiters,” promptly. “Knowledge of the exact shade of tone in which to address a waiter; neither jocose, nor frigid, nor yet deprecating.”
“Then suppose you station yourself near the buffet at our dance; and listen carefully to the demands for claret-cup.”
“Your dance!” snatching at the words; “Merle, you’ve hit on the exact setting for the introduction of our Extra Element of Excitement. When is it?”
“Next month. The invitations went out this morning.”
“And who’s coming? Men, I mean.”
“A hundred and twenty-two in all,” Merle murmured; “do you want their names? I’m sleepy.”
“Don’t be sleepy, then, while I’m playing at the Fates, and Destiny, and the Will of Heaven, all in one.” She reached out to the escritoire, and grabbed pencil and paper. “I’m going to make a catalogue; fire away! You know these hundred and odd males; I don’t. Fling me the most likely ones, and I’ll run them through an informal examination. Such as: ‘will you play Pirates nicely?’ ‘do you mind damp socks?’ ‘can you talk nonsense earnestly, and of earnest matters nonsensically?’ Above all, ‘do you feel equal to the manipulation of a trio?’”
“I shall enjoy watching from afar the face of your partner, while you treat him to all that. Put down Justin Carruthers, for a start.”
Peter scribbled the name: “Special distinguishing marks?”