"Same toast，" said Cooley. "Queen！"
~"A la belle Marquise！"~
Gallantly they drained the glasses at a gulp， and Madame de Vaurigard clapped her hands.
"Bravo！" she cried. "You see？ Corni and I， we win.""Look at their faces！" said Mr. Pedlow， tactlessly drawing attention to what was， for the moment， an undeniably painful sight. "Don't tell me an Italian knows how to make a good Martini！"Mellin profoundly agreed， but， as he joined the small procession to the Countess' dinner-table， he was certain that an Italian at least knew how to make a strong one.
The light in the dining-room was provided by six heavily-shaded candles on the table； the latter decorated with delicate lines of orchids. The chairs were large and comfortable， covered with tapestry； the glass was old Venetian， and the servants， moving like useful ghosts in the shadow outside the circle of mellow light， were particularly efficient in the matter of keeping the wine-glasses full. Madame de Vaurigard had put Pedlow on her right， Cooley on her left， with Mellin directly opposite her， next to Lady Mount-Rhyswicke. Mellin was pleased， because he thought he would have the Countess's face toward him. Anything would have pleased him just then.
"This is the kind of table ~everybody~ ought to have，" he observed to the party in general， as he finished his first glass of champagne.
"I'm going to have it like this at my place in the States--if I ever decide to go back. I'll have six separate candlesticks like this， not a candelabrum， and that will be the only light in the room. And I'll never have anything but orchids on my table--""For my part，" Lady Mount-Rhyswicke interrupted in the loud， tired monotone which seemed to be her only manner of speaking， "I like more light. I like all the light that's goin'.""If Lady Mount-Rhyswicke sat at ~my~ table，" returned Mellin dashingly， "I should wish all the light in the world to shine upon so happy an event.""Hear the man！" she drawled. "He's proposing to me. Thinks I'm a widow."There was a chorus of laughter， over which rose the bellow of Mr.
Pedlow.
"'He's game！' she says--and ~ain't~ he？"
Across the table Madame de Vaurigard's eyes met Mellin's with a mocking intelligence so complete that he caught her message without need of the words she noiselessly formed with her lips： "I tol' you you would be ****** love to her！"He laughed joyously in answer. Why shouldn't he flirt with Lady Mount-Rhyswicke？ He was thoroughly happy； his Helene， his ~belle Marquise~， sat across the table from him sending messages to him with her eyes. He adored her， but he liked Lady Mount-Rhyswicke -梙e liked everybody and everything in the world. He liked Pedlow particularly， and it no longer troubled him that the fat man should be a friend of Madame de Vaurigard. Pedlow was a "character" and a wit as well. Mellin laughed heartily at everything the Honorable Chandler Pedlow said.
"This is life，" remarked the young man to his fair neighbor.
"What is？ Sittin' round a table， eatin' and drinkin'？""Ah， lovely skeptic！" She looked at him strangely， but he continued with growing enthusiasm： "I mean to sit at such a table as this， with such a chef， with such wines--to know one crowded hour like this is to live！ Not a thing is missing； all this swagger furniture， the rich atmosphere of smartness about the whole place； best of all， the company. It's a great thing to have the ~real~ people around you， the right sort， you know， socially； people you'd ask to your own table at home. There are only seven， but every one ~distingue~， every one--"She leaned both elbows on the table with her hands palm to palm， and， resting her cheek against the back of her left hand， looked at him steadily.
"And you--are you distinguished， too？"
"Oh， I wouldn't be much known over ~here~，" he said modestly.
"Do you write poetry？"
"Oh， not professionally， though it is published. I suppose"--he sipped his champagne with his head a little to one side as though judging its quality--"I suppose I 've been more or less a dilettante.
I've knocked about the world a good bit.""Helene says you're one of these leisure American billionaires like Mr. Cooley there，" she said in her tired voice.
"Oh， none of us are really quite billionaires." He laughed deprecatingly.
"No， I suppose not？not really. Go on and tell me some more about life and this distinguished company.""Hey， folks！" Mr. Pedlow's roar broke in upon this dialogue.
"You two are gittin' mighty thick over there. We're drinking a toast， and you'll have to break away long enough to join in.""Queen！ That's what she is！" shouted Cooley.
Mellin lifted his glass with the others and drank to Madame de Vaurigard， but the woman at his side did not change her attitude and continued to sit with her elbows on the table， her cheek on the back of her hand， watching him thoughtfully.
