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"Not yet," he was saying. "In the future—perhaps. But with you, her almost-brother, one may anticipate——"

Van Ingen interrupted him. "I fear I must correct a slight misapprehension upon your part. I am not Miss Grayson's 'almost-brother,' nor," he laughed grimly, "have I any desire for that particular relationship. You have given me your confidence. I will be equally frank with you. I, too, admire Miss Grayson."

"Ah!" He looked at Van Ingen with interest. "So you also are making the running! But, my dear boy, are you not—forgive me!—are you not—ah—young?"

Van Ingen flushed to the roots of his hair with sheer rage. It was the very taunt which Doris had flung in his teeth earlier in the evening. "I am twenty-five," he replied stiffly.

"So old!" exclaimed the count. "Permit me to say that you do not look it! I," he continued thoughtfully, "am thirty-five. And Miss Doris is older than both of us."

"She is exactly twenty-two."

The count shook his head. "Never believe it, my friend. She is as old as Eve. And as eternally young as Spring!" He turned to the other with a slight laugh. "You are my rival, then? You will do your best to baffle me, to thwart this great desire?"