"What is it?" inquired Betty, noting these signs.
"Nothing; nothing of importance," answered the colonel, growing violently red.
It would not be exaggerating to say that if the colonel turned red, his one-time orderly grew purple, only this purple faded quickly into a chalky pallor.
"Well, perhaps I am keeping you," remarked the colonel, soberly, "I shall hold you to your promise about the music."
"We are to have plenty of music. There will foe a famous singer and a fine pianist."
"You will play that what-d'-ye-call-it from Schumann I like so well. I shall want you to play that I want something in the way of memory to take back West with me. Good-by, then, till to-night."
"Good-by. All right, James; home," said the girl. James relievedly touched his horses.
The colonel remained standing at the curb till the victoria disappeared. Of what he was thinking I don't know; but he finally muttered "James?" in an inquiring way, and made for the club, shaking his head, as if suddenly confronted by a remarkably abstruse problem.
Further on I shall tell you how he solved it.