“That little English Johnnie was to blame,” he argued.  “Of course, Barbara had a right to put any one she liked next to her, but why she should have chosen that silly ass is more than I know.  By Jove, if I had been on the other side I’ll warrant his grace would have been lost in the dust.”

His brain was whirling, and for the first time he was beginning to feel the unpleasant pangs of jealousy.  The Duke of Beauchamp he especially disliked, although the poor man had hardly spoken during the dinner.  But Monty could not be reconciled.  He knew, of course, that Barbara had suitors by the dozen, but it had never occurred to him that they were even seriously considered.  Notwithstanding the fact that his encounter with “The Censor” had brought her into undesirable notice, she forgave him everything after a moment’s consideration.  The first few wrenches of resentment were overbalanced by her American appreciation of chivalry, however inspired.  “The Censor” had gone for years unpunished; his coarse wit being aimed at every one who had come into social prominence.  So pungent and vindictive was his pen that other men feared him, and there were many who lived in glass houses in terror of a fusilade.  Brewster’s prompt and sufficient action had checked the pernicious attacks, and he became a hero among men and women.  After that night there was no point to “The Censor’s” pen.  Monty’s first qualms of apprehension were swept away when Colonel Drew himself hailed him the morning after the encounter and, in no unmeasured terms, congratulated him upon his achievement, assuring him that Barbara and Mrs. Drew approved, although they might lecture him as a matter of form.

But on this morning, as he lay in his bed, Monty was thinking deeply and painfully.  He was confronted by a most embarrassing condition and he was discussing it soberly with himself.  “I’ve never told her,” he said to himself, “but if she doesn’t know my feeling she is not as clever as I think.  Besides, I haven’t time to make love to her now.  If it were any other girl I suppose I’d have to, but Babs, why, she must understand.  And yet—­damn that Duke!”

In order to woo her properly he would be compelled to neglect financial duties that needed every particle of brain-energy at his command.  He found himself opposed at the outset by a startling embarrassment, made absolutely clear by the computations of the night before.  The last four days of indifference to finance on one side, and pampering the heart on the other, had proved very costly.  To use his own expression, he had been “set back” almost eight thousand dollars.  An average like that would be ruinous.