"Have I? Oh, good. Well, listen—how your men would admire me if they knew what I presumed to say!—but it's for your good. Major, don't be a monk—a hermit. When a pretty woman comes along, don't shut your eyes. Pretty women and handsome men are made for one another!"
Her intense womanliness, her warmth, brightness, colour, perfume, were very near him. Despite himself, he felt their presence and a hint of their allurement. He was a strong man, physically——
But he answered, rather stiffly:
"Thank you!"
The concert rolled on. She looked at her programme:
'Song: accompanied by guitar: 'A Game of Cards' Constable Humphries.'
"Oh, it's that sweet thing again!" she breathed in Hector's ear. "Don't you think he's wonderful?"
"Very!"
The C.O., from Olympus, to please her, looked down upon the Marquis, his wayward servant, and tossed him a kindly though untruthful word.
In a flutter of applause, the Marquis climbed easily and confidently to the platform. He was a slim young man, black-haired and bronzed, with a short black moustache, beneath which his teeth flashed, white and even, when he smiled. His features were very straight and regular. His eyes looked upon the audience with a kind of bitter humour, as of one who has tasted Life's dregs and bravely bluffs that he has liked them. One glance at the Marquis told Mrs. MacFarlane that every word she had heard of him was true.