"They came here to win pots," he said scornfully. "The man who marries them is sure of a hundred or more objets d'art—to say nothing of virtue—all bought in the bazaar for one franc fifty. That ought to console him—"
"Is he going to marry them both?" Miss Elizabeth asked.
The golden youth smiled.
"Two go to a pattern, I suppose. I shouldn't know one from the other in the dark."
"But you'd have to know the one you married!"
"Ah, so I should! Why don't you write a story about it: 'The Bride Who Wasn't,' or something of that sort? Kipling would do it finely."
"Well, but I'm not Kipling—and here's Mr. Rivers. Why, of course, we won the doubles together. And is it poor little me they want?—Oh, dear!"
There were loud cries for Miss Elizabeth, and she rose, blushing very much at the outburst of cheering which attended her appearance—and obviously a great popular favourite. When she had received one Teddy Bear upon skis from the fat hands of the mayor's relict, she returned to the table and implored them to make plans for the ghost hunt.
"You're all coming, of course," she said. "We'll take luges and have coffee at Vermala. If the ghost does not appear for me, he will never appear at all. Now don't you think so, Mr. Kavanagh?"
"Oh, I think whatever the ladies think. Is Mrs. Kennaird coming?"