“So you’ve left the service, Mr. Lansing?” began Eileen, lying back and looking smilingly at Boots.

“Had to, Miss Erroll.  Seven millionaires ran into my quarters and chased me out and down Broadway into the offices of the Westchester Air Line Company.  Then these seven merciless multi-millionaires in buckram bound and gagged me, stuffed my pockets full of salary, and forced me to typewrite a fearful and secret oath to serve them for five long, weary years.  That’s a sample of how the wealthy grind the noses of the poor, isn’t it, Drina?”

The child slipped her hand from his, smiling uncertainly.

“You don’t mean all that, do you?”

“Indeed I do, sweetheart.”

“Are you not a soldier lieutenant any more, then?” she inquired, horribly disappointed.

“Only a private in the workman’s battalion, Drina.”

“I don’t care,” retorted the child obstinately; “I like you just as much.”

“Have you really done it?” asked Selwyn as the first course was served.

“I? No. They? Yes.  We’ll probably lose the Philippines now,” he added gloomily; “but it’s my thankless country’s fault; you all had a chance to make me dictator, you know.  Miss Erroll, do you want a second-hand sword?  Of course there are great dents in it—­”

“I’d rather have those celebrated boots,” she replied demurely; and Mr. Lansing groaned.

“How tall you’re growing, Drina,” remarked Selwyn.

“Probably the early spring weather,” added Boots.  “You’re twelve, aren’t you?”

“Thirteen,” said Drina gravely.

“Almost time to elope with me,” nodded Boots.

“I’ll do it now,” she said—­“as soon as my new gowns are made—­if you’ll take me to Manila.  Will you?  I believe my Aunt Alixe is there—­”

She caught Eileen’s eye and stopped short.  “I forgot,” she murmured; “I beg your pardon, Uncle Philip—­”

Boots was talking very fast and laughing a great deal; Eileen’s plate claimed her undivided attention; Selwyn quietly finished his claret; the child looked at them all.

“By the way,” said Boots abruptly, “what’s the matter with Gerald?  He came in before noon looking very seedy—­” Selwyn glanced up quietly.

“Wasn’t he at the office?” asked Eileen anxiously.

“Oh, yes,” replied Selwyn; “he felt a trifle under the weather, so I sent him home.”

“Is it the grippe?”

“N-no, I believe not—­”

“Do you think he had better have a doctor?  Where is he?”

“He was here,” observed Drina composedly, “and father was angry with him.”

“What?” exclaimed Eileen.  “When?”

“This morning, before father went downtown.”

Both Selwyn and Lansing cut in coolly, dismissing the matter with a careless word or two; and coffee was served—­cambric tea in Drina’s case.

“Come on,” said Boots, slipping a bride-rose into Drina’s curls; “I’m ready for confidences.”