"That's a pity," said I. "You should talk to him of Heaven, or pigs, or Babylonic cuneiform—anything but Lola Brandt. You ought to go to work on a different system."

   "But I haven't a system at all," cried the poor lady. "How was I to foresee that my only son was going to fall in love with a circus rider? These are contingencies in life for which one, with all the thought in the world, can make no provision. I had arranged, as you know, that he should marry Maisie Ellerton, as charming a girl as ever there was. Isn't she? And an independent fortune besides."

   "A rosebud wrapped in a gold leaf," I murmured.

   "Now he's breaking the child's heart——"

   "There was never any engagement between them, I am sure of that," I remarked.

   "There wasn't. But I gave her to understand it was a settled affair—merely a question of Dale speaking. And, instead of speaking, he will have nothing to do with her, and spends all his time—and, I suppose, though I don't like to refer to it, all his money—in the society of this unmentionable woman."

   "Is she really so—so red as she is painted?" I asked.

   "She isn't painted at all. That's where her artful and deceitful devilry comes in——"

   "I suppose Dale," said I, "declares her to be an angel of light and purity?"

   "An angel on horseback! Whoever heard of such a thing?"

   "It's the name of a rather fiery savoury," said I.

   "In a circus!" she continued.

   "Well," said I, "the ring of a circus is not essentially one of the circles in Dante's Inferno."

   "Of course, my dear Simon," she said, with some impatience, "if you defend him—"

   I hastened to interrupt her. "I don't. I think he is an egregious young idiot; but before taking action it's well to get a clear idea of the facts. By the way, how do you know she's not painted?"

   "I've seen her—seen her with my own eyes in Dale's company—at the Savoy. He's there supping with her every night. General Lamont told me. I wouldn't believe it—Dale 

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