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Brewster, the chap I was telling you about. I don’t know who the lovely he’s talking to is, but she’s something to write home about, isn’t she?”
    Mr. Brewster was a thin, dark young man with a pince-nez and an earnest expression. Gay looked at him, and set him down as a bromide. Then she looked past him to a vision in blue and silver. She said,
    â€œHe’s talking to my cousin, Sylvia Colesborough.”
    Algy gazed.
    â€œI say—is she really your cousin?”
    Gay laughed without quite knowing why. Why should you laugh when your best young man is quite obviously struck all of a heap by someone else? She laughed and said,
    â€œI suppose she is.”
    â€œHow do you mean, you suppose?”
    Gay laughed again.
    â€œWell, she and Marcia and I were at school together, and when we were pleased with each other we were cousins, and when we quarrelled we weren’t. I think we had the same great-great-grandfather.”
    â€œDefinitely a cousin,” said Algy. “I say, she’s marvellous—isn’t she? Will you introduce me? I’d like to cut out Brewster, and I’d like to be able to say I’d danced with anything as marvellous as that.”
    Gay flew a little scarlet flag in either cheek, a little scarlet danger flag. She said in a small, meek voice,
    â€œAnd what happens to me, darling? Do I practice being a wallflower, or do I dance with Cyril?”
    â€œYou dance with Cyril,” said Algy firmly. Then he grinned, and with the grin went back to being the schoolboy of ten years ago. “Unless you’d rather be a wallflower. You’d be awfully decorative, but I don’t suppose you’ve had enough practice to do it really well. I say, you don’t mind, do you? I expect it did sound a bit curt, but I would like to dance with her—just once—just to say I’d done it.”
    â€œAll right, you shall. She dances beautifully too, but your Cyril Brewster’s got her for this one.”
    â€œDo you want to dance it?”
    Gay shook her head.
    â€œI’d rather look on, then we can catch them as soon as they stop. Besides, I want to talk to you.”
    Algy’s eyes followed the blue and silver vision.
    â€œShe’s wasted on Brewster,” he said with regret. “He’ll bore her.”
    Gay suppressed a giggle.
    â€œHe won’t. The man doesn’t live who can bore Sylvia.”
    Algy looked at her darkly.
    â€œYou don’t know Brewster. He’d bore anyone, and he’d do it as perseveringly and efficiently as he does everything else.”
    â€œThen I’d rather be a wallflower,” said Gay.
    Algy smiled upon her kindly.
    â€œOh, no, you wouldn’t. But I’ll rescue you after one dance—I swear I will. Anyhow, he’s quite an efficient dancer.”
    â€œAlgy, I want to talk to you.”
    â€œAll right, I’m here. What do you want to talk about?”
    â€œI want to ask you something.”
    â€œAll right, ask away, I haven’t got a kingdom, but if I had one, you could have half of it. I can’t say fairer than that.”
    And he hadn’t meant to say that. It just slipped out. There was something about Gay sitting up rather straight and looking rather earnest that made it slip out. The blue and silver lovely was a godsend, because he mustn’t, he really mustn’t slip over the edge of being in love with Gay, and when she looked at him with something young and a little forlorn behind the sparkle in her eyes, the edge was dangerously near.
    â€œAlgy, what would you do if someone tried to blackmail you?”
    â€œI should tell him to go to blazes,” said Algy promptly.
    Gay considered this. It seemed to her a simple and efficacious method, but it was no use commending it to Sylvia. She sighed and said,
    â€œSuppose you couldn’t—I mean, suppose you weren’t like that—I mean some people can’t tell people