This was explained to Montague by the young lady on his left—­the one whose half-dressed condition caused his embarrassment.  She was only about twenty, with a wealth of golden hair and the bright, innocent face of a child; he had not yet learned her name, for every one called her “Cherub.”  Not long after this she made a remark across the table to Baby de Mille, a strange jumble of syllables, which sounded like English, yet was not.  Miss de Mille replied, and several joined in, until there was quite a conversation going on.  “Cherub” explained to him that “Baby” had invented a secret language, made by transposing letters; and that Ollie and Bertie were crazy to guess the key to it, and could not.

The dinner lasted until late.  The wine-glasses continued to be emptied, and to be magically filled again.  The laughter was louder, and now and then there were snatches of singing; women lolled about in their chairs-one beautiful boy sat gazing dreamily across the table at Montague, now and then closing his eyes, and opening them more and more reluctantly.  The attendants moved about, impassive and silent as ever; no one else seemed to be cognizant of their existence, but Montague could not help noticing them, and wondering what they thought of it all.

When at last the party broke up, it was because the bridge-players wished to get settled for the evening.  The others gathered in front of the fireplace, and smoked and chatted.  At home, when one planned a day’s hunting, he went to bed early and rose before dawn; but here, it seemed, there was game a-plenty, and the hunters had nothing to consider save their own comfort.

The cards were played in the vaulted “gun-room.”  Montague strolled through it, and his eye ran down the wall, lined with glass cases and filled with every sort of firearm known to the hunter.  He recalled, with a twinge of self-abasement, that he had suggested bringing his shotgun along!

He joined a group in one corner, and lounged in the shadows, and studied “Billy” Price, whose conversation had so mystified him.  “Billy,” whose father was a banker, proved to be a devotee of horses; she was a veritable Amazon, the one passion of whose life was glory.  Seeing her sitting in this group, smoking cigarettes, and drinking highballs, and listening impassively to risque stories, one might easily draw base conclusions about Billy Price.  But as a matter of fact she was made of marble; and the men, instead of falling in love with her, made her their confidante, and told her their troubles, and sought her sympathy and advice.

Some of this was explained to Montague by a young lady, who, as the evening wore on, came in and placed herself beside him.  “My name is Betty Wyman,” she said, “and you and I will have to be friends, because Ollie’s my side partner.”