"That's one way of helpin' a feller! Helene,
can you do any better than that?"
"Ah, this dear, droll Cooley!"
The tantalizing witch lifted the youth's glass to his lips and let
him drink, as a mother helps a thirsty child. "_Bebe!_" she laughed
endearingly.
As the lovely Helene pronounced that word, Lady Mount-Rhyswicke was
leaning forward to replace Mellin's empty glass upon the table.
"I don't care whether you're a widow or not!" he shouted furiously. And
he resoundingly kissed her massive shoulder.
There was a wild shout of laughter; even the imperturbable Sneyd (who
had continued to win steadily) wiped tears from his eyes, and Madame
de Vaurigard gave way to intermittent hysteria throughout the ensuing
half-hour.
For a time Mellin sat grimly observing this inexplicable merriment with
a cold smile.
"Laugh on!" he commanded with bitter satire, some ten minutes after play
had been resumed--and was instantly obeyed.
Whereupon his mood underwent another change, and he became convinced
that the world was a warm and kindly place, where it was good to live.
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