“A Captain of Chinese cavalry, of course.”

And he put an eyeglass into his left eye and stared.

Now it had been understood that Nellie was to appear as Lady Jane Grey.  But she appeared as Little Red Riding-Hood, wearing over her frock the forgotten cloak of the Countess Ruhl.

Instantly he saw her, Denry hurried towards her, with a movement of the legs and a flourish of the eyeglass in his left hand which powerfully suggested a figure familiar to every member of the company.  There was laughter.  People saw that the idea was immensely funny and clever, and the laughter ran about like fire.  At the same time some persons were not quite sure whether Denry had not lapsed a little from the finest taste in this caricature.  And all of them were secretly afraid that the uncomfortable might happen when Captain Deverax arrived.

However, Captain Deverax did not arrive.  The party from the Metropole came with the news that he had not been seen at the hotel for dinner; it was assumed that he had been to Montreux and missed the funicular back.

“Our two stars simultaneously eclipsed!” said Denry, as the Clutterbucks (representing all the history of England) stared at him curiously.

“Why?” exclaimed the Clutterbuck cousin, “who’s the other?”

“The Countess,” said Denry.  “She went this afternoon—­three o’clock.”

And all the Metropole party fell into grief.

“It’s a world of coincidences,” said Denry, with emphasis.

“You don’t mean to insinuate,” said Mrs Clutterbuck, with a nervous laugh, “that Captain Deverax has—­er—­gone after the Countess?”

“Oh no!” said Denry, with unction.  “Such a thought never entered my head.”

“I think you’re a very strange man, Mr Machin,” retorted Mrs Clutterbuck, hostile and not a bit reassured.  “May one ask what that costume is supposed to be?”

“A Captain of Chinese cavalry,” said Denry, lifting his eyeglass.

Nevertheless, the dance was a remarkable success, and little by little even the sternest adherents of the absent Captain Deverax deigned to be amused by Denry’s Chinese gestures.  Also, Denry led the cotillon, and was thereafter greatly applauded by the Beau-Site.  The visitors agreed among themselves that, considering that his name was not Deverax, Denry acquitted himself honourably.  Later he went to the bureau, and, returning, whispered to his wife: 

“It’s all right.  He’s come back safe.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve just telephoned to ask.”

Denry’s subsequent humour was wildly gay.  And for some reason which nobody could comprehend, he put a sling round his left arm.  His efforts to insert the eyeglass into his left eye with his right hand were insistently ludicrous and became a sure source of laughter for all beholders.  When the Metropole party were getting into their sleighs to go home—­it had ceased snowing—­Denry was still trying to insert his eyeglass into his left eye with his right hand, to the universal joy.