e murmured.

"A serious talk--about the mine," replied her husband.

"About the mine," she repeated, and a moment after burst into a laugh
that was almost startling in its insincerity. "It is so amusing, this
chapter of cross-purposes," she cried. "What a sight it has been! a
night of thrilling surprises to all of us! I miss Phyllis by half an
hour and my husband misses me by less than half an hour. He comes
at express speed from Paris to have a talk, a serious talk, with Mr.
Courtland about the mine, and while he is driving from Victoria, Mr.
Courtland is driving to the same station with Lord Earlscourt!"

"What a series of fatalities!" said Mr. Ayrton. "But what seemed to me
most amusing was the persuasiveness of Earlscourt. He has only to speak
half a dozen words to Courtland, and off he goes to Norway at a moment's
notice with probably the most uncongenial boat's load that Courtland
ever sailed with, and he must have done a good deal in that way in New
Guinea waters. Now, why should Courtland take such a turn?"

"Ah, why, indeed!" cried Mrs. Linton. "Yes, that is, as you say, the
most amusing part of the whole evening of cross-purposes. Why should he
run away just at this time--to-night--to-night?"

"What is there particular about to-night that Courtland's running away
should seem doubly erratic?" asked Mr. Linton, after a little pause. He
had his eyes fixed coldly upon his wife's face.

She turned to him and laughed quite merrily.

"What is there particular about to-night?" she repeated. "Why, have you
not arrived from Paris to-night to have that serious talk with him about
the mine? Doesn't it seem to you doubly provoking that he didn't stay
until to-morrow or that you didn't arrive yesterday? Why, why, why did
he run away to-night before nine?"

"Why before nine?" said her husband.

"Heavens! Was not that the hour when you arrived home? You said so just
now," she cried. Then she picked up her wrap. Phyllis had thrown it over
a chair when it had lain in a heap on the floor as Cleopatra's wrap may
have lain when she was carried into the presence of her lover. "My dear
Stephen, don't you think that as it is past nine, and Mr. Courtland
is probably some miles out at sea with his head reposing on something
hard,--there is nothing soft about a yacht,--we should make a move
in the direction of home? It seems pretty clear that you will have no
serious talk with him to-night. Alas! my Phyllis, our dream of happin