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“Now, then, Concha, cut that red and come back on the blue ... ve-e-ry pree ... oh, hard luck!”

“Now, then ... all eyes on Captain Dundas!... Captain Dundas pots the black. Well, a very good game.”

Whereupon the Snooker party broke up; the men wriggling into their dinner-jackets, and Concha standing by the gramophone and swaying up and down as she hummed the latest jazz tune.

Guy came up to Teresa. “About Oscar Wilde—I do want to have a talk to you about him. Do you think—well, brilliancy—it has a certain literary value, don’t you think?”

“Yes; I suppose so,” she answered absently; she was watching Concha and Rory giggling by the gramophone.

“Well, I am going to bed,” said the Doña, and, kissing her hand to Arnold, who was still knocking about the balls, she left the room, followed by Jollypot.

“Well, that was a very successful game,” said Dick.

“What about another one? You’ve got to play this time, Munroe.”

“Yes, another game. I’ve never seen a game of Snooker over so quickly ... owing to the amazing brilliance of our Captain Dundas,” cried Arnold.