"Who?"
"The young gentleman you were just speaking of."
"Percy Miles? What does he want with an all-night club?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Ah, well, I suppose he is not likely to get in," she said, turning to the tall mirror. "Percy is very nice—just the nicest boy I know—but I'm afraid he is not particularly clever. He has written some verses in one or two magazines—of course you can't expect me to criticise them severely, considering who was the 'only begetter' of them—"
"Oh, that has nothing to do with it," Lionel interrupted again. "He is sure to get in. There's no qualification at the Garden, so long as you're all right socially. There are plenty such as he in the club already."
"But why does he want to get in?" she said, wheeling round. "Why should he want to sit up all night playing cards? Now tell me honestly, Lionel, it isn't your doing! You didn't ask him to join, did you? You can't be treasuring up any feeling of vengeance—"
"Oh, nonsense; I had nothing to do with it. I saw his name in the candidates' book quite by accident. And the election is by committee—he'll get in all right. What does he want with it?—oh, I don't know. Perhaps he has been disappointed in love and seeks for a little consolation in card-playing."
"Yes, you always sneer at love—because you don't know anything about it," she said, snappishly. "Or perhaps you are an extinct volcano. I suppose you have sighed your heart out like a furnace—and for a foreigner, I'll be bound!"
Nay, it was hardly to be wondered at that Miss Burgoyne should