Miss De Ormond accepted the swivel chair at Blue-Tie’s desk.  Then the gentlemen drew leather-upholstered seats conveniently near, and spoke of the weather.

“Yes,” said she, “I noticed it was warmer.  But I mustn’t take up too much of your time during business hours.  That is,” she continued, “unless we talk business.”

She addressed her words to Blue-Tie, with a charming smile.

“Very well,” said he.  “You don’t mind my cousin being present, do you?  We are generally rather confidential with each other—­especially in business matters.”

“Oh no,” caroled Miss De Ormond.  “I’d rather he did hear.  He knows all about it, anyhow.  In fact, he’s quite a material witness because he was present when you—­when it happened.  I thought you might want to talk things over before—­well, before any action is taken, as I believe the lawyers say.”

“Have you anything in the way of a proposition to make?” asked Black-Tie.

Miss De Ormond looked reflectively at the neat toe of one of her dull kid-pumps.

“I had a proposal made to me,” she said.  “If the proposal sticks it cuts out the proposition.  Let’s have that settled first.”

“Well, as far as—­” began Blue-Tie.

“Excuse me, cousin,” interrupted Black-Tie, “if you don’t mind my cutting in.”  And then he turned, with a good-natured air, toward the lady.

“Now, let’s recapitulate a bit,” he said cheerfully.  “All three of us, besides other mutual acquaintances, have been out on a good many larks together.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to call the birds by another name,” said Miss De Ormond.

“All right,” responded Black-Tie, with unimpaired cheerfulness; “suppose we say ‘squabs’ when we talk about the ‘proposal’ and ‘larks’ when we discuss the ‘proposition.’  You have a quick mind, Miss De Ormond.  Two months ago some half-dozen of us went in a motor-car for a day’s run into the country.  We stopped at a road-house for dinner.  My cousin proposed marriage to you then and there.  He was influenced to do so, of course, by the beauty and charm which no one can deny that you possess.”

“I wish I had you for a press agent, Mr. Carteret,” said the beauty, with a dazzling smile.

“You are on the stage, Miss De Ormond,” went on Black-Tie.  “You have had, doubtless, many admirers, and perhaps other proposals.  You must remember, too, that we were a party of merrymakers on that occasion.  There were a good many corks pulled.  That the proposal of marriage was made to you by my cousin we cannot deny.  But hasn’t it been your experience that, by common consent, such things lose their seriousness when viewed in the next day’s sunlight?  Isn’t there something of a ‘code’ among good ’sports’—­I use the word in its best sense—­that wipes out each day the follies of the evening previous?”

“Oh yes,” said Miss De Ormond.  “I know that very well.  And I’ve always played up to it.  But as you seem to be conducting the case—­with the silent consent of the defendant—­I’ll tell you something more.  I’ve got letters from him repeating the proposal.  And they’re signed, too.”