something, and gulped at his champagne.

"Do you know Mrs. Sherwood?" he asked, merely to say something,

But to his surprise Mrs, Morrell answered him shortly, her manner changing:

"No, I don't. We draw the line _somewhere_!"

Again she addressed the woman on the right, but this time without leaning
across:

"Oh, Amy, the fair Patricia has another victim!" and laughed rather
shrilly. Suddenly she rapped the table with the handle of a knife. "Stop
it!" she cried to the company at large. "You're making too much noise!"

They all turned to her except one youth who was too noisily busy with his
partner to have heard her. Failing in another attempt to get his attention,
Mrs. Morrell picked up a chunk of French bread and hurled it at him.

"Good shot!" "Bravo!" "Encore!" came a burst of applause, as the bread,
largely by accident, took him squarely between the eyes.

The youth, though astonished, was game. He retaliated in kind. Keith
whipped up an empty plate and intercepted it. The youth's partner came to
his assistance. Keith, a plate in either hand, deftly protected Mrs.
Morrell from the flying missiles. The implied challenge was instantly
accepted by all. The air was full of bread. Keith's dexterity was tested to
the utmost, but he came through the battle with flying colours. Everybody
threw bread. There was much explosive laughter, that soon became fairly
exhausting. The battle ceased, both because the combatants were out of