"Out of your own mouth, uncle of mine, you stand convicted of a trifling misstatement," she inserted quickly, by way of covering any undue interest her face might have shown. "Were he my young man, new or old, he wouldn't have refused an invitation to dine here. I'm surprised that this particular individual did refuse, though, for yesterday he looked as hungry as one of the reservation braves. What reason did he give?"
"The best in the world—a previous engagement, both for last night and to-night. Can it be possible, Ethel, that you're losing your knack with strange males? Your fatal beauty——"
An unexplained chuckle from Tom Fitzrapp interrupted.
"Is this some joke you two have framed on poor me?" demanded the widow. "I certainly didn't ask him to rescue me."
"Mr. Thomas Fitzrapp seems to know something about this previous engagement business," suggested the major.
Again Fitzrapp chuckled. "I did run into the spectacular rescuer this afternoon. He was striding around Victoria Park as though he owned the institution, looking wise over the tryouts, and asking all manner of questions about who bred this or that likely one and where they ranged."
"Have any talk with him?" asked MacDonald.
"I didn't speak to him, and if he noticed me at all, I don't believe he remembered me from yesterday. Probably his mental picture-album retained only one face." He glanced jealously at Ethel who had colored slightly under the continuing fire. "I got a hint of the nature of his questions, and as they coincided with certain suspicions that I formed yesterday, I decided to find out what he was up to."
"You followed him?" asked Ethel Andress indignantly.
"Yes, I certainly did," returned Fitzrapp brazenly. "I trailed him to the Chateau Royal. You'll never guess who he met there."