Wingate from the first had a prescience of disagreeable things. There was malice in Dredlinton's pallid face, the ugly twist of his lips and the light in his bloodshot eyes. He paused opposite to them, and leaning his hands on the back of the nearest chair, spoke across the table.

"Hullo, Flossie!" he exclaimed. "How are you, old dear? How are you, Wingate?"

Wingate replied with cold civility, Flossie with a careless nod.

"I do hope," she whispered to her companion, glancing into the mirror which she had just drawn from her bag, "that Lord Dredlinton isn't going to be foolish. He does embarrass me so sometimes."

"I say," Dredlinton went on, "what are you doing here, Wingate? I didn't know this sort of thing was in your line."

Wingate raised his eyebrows but made no response. Dredlinton shook his head reproachfully at Miss Lane.

"Flossie," he continued, "you ought to know better. Besides, you will waste your time. Mr. Wingate's taste in women is of a very—superior order. Doesn't care about your sort at all. He likes saints. That's right, isn't it, Wingate?"

"You seem to know," was the cool reply.

"Not 't tall sure," Dredlinton went on, balancing himself with difficulty, "that your new conquest would altogether approve of this, you know. Wingate, let me tell you that Flossie is a very dangerous young lady—destroys the peace of everybody—can't sleep myself for thinking of her. Not your sort at all, Wingate. We know your sort, don't we, eh?"

Wingate remained contemptuously silent. Kendrick rose from his place and laid his hand on Dredlinton's shoulder.

"Come and sit down, Dredlinton," he said shortly. "You're making an idiot of yourself."

"Go to hell!" the other replied truculently. "Who are you? Just that man's broker, that's all. Want to sell wheat, Wingate, or buy it, eh?"

Wingate looked at him steadily.

"You're drunk," he said. "I should advise you to get a friend to take you home."

"Drunk, am I?" Dredlinton shouted. "What if I am? I'm a better man drunk than you are sober—although she may not think so, eh?"

Wingate looked at him from underneath level brows.

"I should advise you not to mention any names here," he said.

"I like that!" the other scoffed. "Not to mention any names, eh? He'll forbid me next to talk about my own wife."

"You'd be a cur if you did," Wingate told him.

A little spot of colour burned in Dredlinton's cheeks. For a moment he showed his teeth. But for Kendrick's restraining arm, he seemed as though he would have thrown himself across the table. Then, with a great effort, he regained command of himself.

"So you won't sell wheat and you won't buy wheat, Mr. American!" he jeered. "I know what you would like to buy, though—and, damn it all, there's old Dreadnought Phipps down there—he's a bidder, too—ain't you, Phipps, old boy? What you see in her, either of you, I don't know! She's no use to me."

Phipps rose in his place. Sir Frederick Houstley left his chair and came round to Dredlinton.

"Lord Dredlinton," he said, "I think you had better leave."

"I'll leave when I damned well please!" was the quick reply. "Don't you lose your wool, old Freddy. This is going to be a joke. You listen. I tell you what I'll do. I'm a poor man—devilish poor—and it takes a lot of money to enjoy oneself, nowadays. You're all in this. Sit tight and listen. We'll have an auction."

Wingate rose slowly to his feet, pushed his chair back and stood behind it. Flossie gripped him by the wrist.

"Don't take any notice of him, please, Mr. Wingate," she implored, in an agonised whisper. "For my sake, don't! He's dangerous when he's like this. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."

"Look here, Dredlinton," Sir Frederick expostulated, "you are spoiling my party. You don't want to quarrel with me, do you?"

"Quarrel with you, Freddy?" Dredlinton replied, patting him on the back affectionately. "Not I! I'm too fond of you, old dear. You give too nice parties. Always the right sort of people—except for that bounder over there," he went on, nodding his head towards Wingate.

"Then sit down and don't make an ass of yourself," his host begged.
"You're spoiling every one's enjoyment, making a disturbance like this."

"Spoiling their enjoyment be hanged!" Dredlinton scoffed. "Tell you what, I'm going to make the party go. I'm going to have a bit of fun. What about an auction, eh?—-an auction with two bidders only—both millionaires—one's a pal and the other isn't. Both want the same thing—happens to be mine. Damn! I never thought it was worth anything, but here goes. What'll you bid, Phipps?"

Phipps apprised the situation and decided upon his rÔle. He had a very correct intuition as to what was likely to happen.

"Sit down and don't be an ass, Dredlinton," he laughed. "Don't take the fellow seriously," he went on, speaking generally. "He's all right as long as you let him alone. You're all right, aren't you, Dredlinton?"

"Right as rain," was the confident reply. "But let's hear your bid, if you're going to make one."

"Bid? You've got nothing to sell," Phipps declared good humouredly, with a covert glance towards Wingate. "What are you getting rid of, eh? Your household goods?"

"Come on, Phipps," Dredlinton persisted. "You're not going to fade away like that. You've given me the straight tip. You were the only man in the running. Clear course. No jealousy. Up to you to step in and win. You've got a rival, I tell you. You'll have to bid or lose her. Open your mouth wide, man. Start it with ten thou."

"Sit down, you blithering jackass!" Phipps roared. "Give him a drink, some one, and keep him quiet."

"Don't want a drink," Dredlinton replied, shaking himself free from Kendrick's grasp. "Want to keep my head clear. Big deal, this. May reestablish the fortunes of a fallen family. Gad, it's a night for all you outsiders to remember, this!" he went on, glancing insolently around the table. "Don't often have the chance of seeing a nobleman selling his household treasures. Come on, Wingate. Phipps is shy about starting. Let's have your bid. What about ten thou, eh?"

Wingate came slowly around the table. His eyes never left Dredlinton. Dredlinton, too, watched him like a cat, watched him drawing nearer and nearer.

"What, do you want to whisper your bid?" he jeered. "Out with it like a man! This is a unique opportunity. Heaven knows when you may get the chance again! Shall we say twenty thou, Wingate? A peeress and a saint! Gad, they aren't to be picked up every day!"

"What on earth is he trying to sell?" Flossie demanded.

Dredlinton turned with an evil grin. He had at least the courage of a drunken man, for he took no account of Wingate towering over him.

"Don't you know?" he cried out. "Doesn't every one understand?"

"Stop!" Wingate ordered.

"And why the hell should I stop for you?" Dredlinton shouted. "If Flossie wants to know, here's the truth. It's the least cherished of all my household goods. It's my wife."

Of what happened during the next few seconds, or rather of the manner of its happening, few people were able to render a coherent account. All that they remembered was a most amazing spectacle,—the spectacle of Wingate walking quietly to the door with Dredlinton in his arms, kicking and shouting smothered profanities, but absolutely powerless to free himself. The door was opened by a waiter, and Wingate passed into the corridor. A maÎtre d'hÔtel, with presence of mind, hurried up to him.

"Have you an empty room with a key?" Wingate asked.

The man led the way and pushed open the door of a small apartment used on busy occasions for a service room. Wingate thrust in his struggling burden and locked the door.

"Strong panels?" he enquired, pausing for a moment to listen to the blows directed upon them.

The head waiter smiled.

"They're more than one man can break through, sir," he assured him.

Wingate made his way back to the supper party. Half of the guests were on their feet. He met Sir Frederick near the door.

"Sorry, Sir Frederick, if I am in any way responsible for this little disturbance," he said, as he made his way towards his place. "I think if I were you, I should give this key to one of the commissionaires a little later on. Lord Dredlinton is quite safe for the present."

Sir Frederick patted him on the shoulder.

"Most unprovoked attack," he declared. "Delighted to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Wingate, you treated him exactly as he deserved."

Wingate resumed his place and held out his glass to the waiter. Then he raised it to his lips. The glass was full to the brim but his fingers were perfectly steady. He looked down the table towards Phipps, whose expression was noncommittal, and gently disemburdened himself of Flossie's arm, which had stolen through his.

"I think you are the most wonderful man I ever met," she confided.

"You're a brick," Sarah whispered in his ear. "Come and see me off the premises, there's a dear. Jimmy won't be ready for hours yet and I want to get home."

Wingate rose at once, made his adieux and accompanied Sarah to the door, followed by a reproachful glance from Flossie. The former took his arm and held it tightly as they passed along the corridor.

"I think that you are the dearest man I ever knew, Mr. Wingate," she said, "just as I think that Josephine is the dearest woman, and I hope more than anything in the world—well, you know what I hope."

"I think I do," Wingate replied. "Thank you."