He put on his coat, added an overcoat and white scarf, c.o.c.ked his opera hat on his shapely old head, and sat confronting his sitting-room clock.

At 7:29 he rose briskly, and then with a sigh sank back into his chair.

He heard a footstep on the stair.

"Mr. Walkingshaw," announced the valet.

The Colonel advanced with that courteous smile for which he was renowned.

"My dear Charlie!" cried his visitor.

"Well, Heriot," smiled the Colonel, looking a little surprised at the remarkable joviality of this greeting.

He surveyed his old friend up and down, and seemed still more surprised.

"What a buck you are!" he exclaimed.

In truth, Mr. Walkingshaw, arrayed in a new opera hat, a new and shining pair of dress boots, and a fashionable new overcoat, cut a very different figure from the sedate W.S. of the Colonel's previous acquaintance.

Heriot looked a trifle self-conscious.

"I hope I haven't overdone the thing," said he.

"Not a bit," smiled the Colonel, as a bright inspiration struck him.

"The only criticism I'd make is that you are really thrown away on the members of your very sedate club, Heriot."

"Oh, but I didn't mean to dine you at my club."

Colonel Munro opened his eyes and smiled again.

"Where do you propose?"

"Well, I thought perhaps you might advise me."

"Let me see," mused Charlie, with a pleasant air.

"What about the Carlton?"

"First-rate, if you care to run to that."

"I've booked a table there on spec," said Heriot.

The Colonel beamed.

"I say, you're coming out, Heriot. Blowing the expense this time, what?"

"I don't care what I spend!" replied his old friend, in a burst of confidence.

"Then let's start," said the Colonel. "Like to take a cab?"

"I've got one waiting."

"After you," said Charlie, holding the door open.

He was struck by the agility with which his old friend descended the stairs, and smiled afresh at the increasing possibilities of the situation.

"I say, this is very pleasant," beamed Mr. Walkingshaw as they jingled off in a hansom.

Rather bashfully he took from his overcoat pocket a pair of dazzling white kid gloves.

"These are the proper things in the evening, aren't they?" he inquired.

"I notice you've got on a pair."

His guest chuckled.

"They'll do to dance in afterwards if we go on to Covent Garden," he laughed, and then added waggishly, "How would you like to go to a fancy dress ball, Heriot?"

"Is there one on to-night?" asked Heriot.

"Yes."

"Are you going?"

"Oh, I've given up that sort of thing years ago; but of course, if you're keen to go, I might stretch a point."

Mr. Walkingshaw looked at him doubtfully out of the corner of his eye and answered nothing.

A little later the two old friends had grown more merrily confidential than they had been since the days of their youth. Charlie Munro was a little puzzled by the subtle alteration in his host, but he was not in the least disposed to criticize it. He felt more and more inclined to tempt him into a further display of frivolity.

"Well, now, what about the Covent Garden ball?" he suggested.

Heriot's eyes grew bright, but his mouth pursed cautiously.

"Aren't they rather--er--fast?" he inquired.

"As fast as you choose to make 'em."

"But aren't the ladies rather--er--rather--well--"

"Not a bit," said the Colonel. "There's a mixture, that's all."

"But I say, Charlie, what about being seen by any one we know?"

"We'll get a disguise for you," smiled Charlie.

"Really, can you?"

"Oh, I'll see to that."

He began to picture a very amusing evening with his old friend Heriot.