There was a sprightly nervousness in Ann’s manner.  She was uncomfortably aware of a subtle undercurrent.

“And I’ve another unexpected guest,” she added to Diane.  “Carl’s here.  Wandering in from Heaven knows where, as he always does.  He’s making his peace with your aunt—­”

Herodotus, who had been trying for some time to get into friendly communication with his lady, suddenly murmured “Frost in Florida!” with audible regret and moved off good-humoredly to look for Carl.

He found that young man listening attentively to his aunt’s reproaches.

“And that costume, Carl,” fluttered Queen Elizabeth in aggrieved disapproval.  “Why, dear me, it’s enough to make a body shudder, it’s so sort of sinister—­it is indeed!  And I do hope you don’t set your hair on fire with that extraordinary light in your turban.  Is it a candle or an electric bulb?”

“A forty horse power glowworm!” Carl assured her gravely, and the portly Jethro sniggered to the danger of his seams.

Philip’s hand came down heavily upon the Palmer’s broad shoulder and Carl wheeled.  In that instant as he grasped Philip’s hand in a silence more eloquent than words, every finer instinct of his queerly balanced nature flashed in his face.  The two hands tightened and fell apart.

“Come, smoke!” invited Carl, smiling.  “I’m glad you’re here.  I haven’t been ragged and abused for so long there’s a lonely furrow in my soul.”

But Dick Sherrill, looking very warm and disgruntled in a costume he informed them bitterly was meant for Claude Duval, came up as they were turning away and insisted upon presenting Carl to the guest of the evening.

“Ann sent me,” he added.  “And you’ve got to come.  And I want to say right now that Ann makes me tired.  She’s as notional as a lunatic. She planned this rig and now she doesn’t like it.  And if I don’t look like a highwayman you can wager your last sou I feel like one, and that’s sufficient.  The whole trouble is that Ann’s been so busy with hair-dressers and manicurists and corsetieres and dressmakers and the Lord knows what not over that stunning Indian girl, who’ll likely run off with the family topazes, that she’s had no time for her brother, and rubs it in now by laughing at the shape of my legs.  What’s the matter with my legs, Carl?”

“Too ornamental,” said Carl.  “Curvilinear grace is all very well but—­”

“Shut up!” said Sherrill viciously.  “Have you ever met this king-pin I’m exploiting?”

“I’ve seen him,” said Car.  “Once when he was riding up the mountain road to Houdania with a brilliant escort and one—­er—­other time.  Think I told you I’d spent a month or so in a Houdanian monastery several years ago, didn’t I, Dick?”

“Yes,” said Dick.  “That’s why I asked.  Poynter, who in blue blazes are you looking for?”

Philip flushed.

“Dry up!” he advised.  “You’re grouchy.”