old man, and I have some experience of the world.
That part of it which is called Africa is not the place where fortunes
are made. It is as different from India as chalk is from cheese, if you
will permit so vulgar a simile."

Millicent's face dropped.

"But SOME people have made fortunes there."

"Yes--in slaves! But that interesting commerce is at an end. However, so
long as my son does not suffer in health, I suppose we must be thankful
that he is creditably employed."

He rose as he spoke.

"I see," he went on, "your amiable friend the baron approaching with
lawn-tennis necessaries. It is wonderful that our neighbours never learn
to keep their enthusiasm for lawn-tennis in bounds until the afternoon."

With that he left her, and the baron came to the conclusion, before very
long, that something had "contraried" the charming Miss Chyne. The truth
was that Millicent was bitterly disappointed. The idea of failure had
never entered her head since Jack's letters, full of life and energy,
had begun to arrive. Sir John Meredith was a man whose words commanded
respect--partly because he was an old man whose powers of perception had
as yet apparently retained their full force, and the vast experience of
life which was his could hardly be overrated. Man's prime is that period
when the widest experience and the keenest perception meet.

Millicent Chyne had lulled herself into a false security. She had
taken it for granted that Jack would succeed, and would return rich and
prosperous within a few months. Upon this pleasant certainty Sir John
had cast a doubt, and she could hardly treat his words with contempt.
She had almost forgotten Guy Oscard's letter. Across a hemisphere Jack
Meredith was a stronger influence in her life than Oscard.

While she sat on the terrace and flirted with the baron she reflected
hurriedly over the situation. She was, she argued to herself, not in any
way engaged to Guy Oscard. If he in an unguarded moment should dare to
mention such a possibility to Jack, it would be quite easy to contradict
the statement with convincing heat. But in her heart she was sure of Guy
Oscard. One of the worst traits in the character of an unfaithful woman
is the readiness with which she trades upon the faithfulness of men.

CHAPTER XVII. UNDERHAND

The offender never pardons.

Victor Durnovo lingered on at Loango. He elaborated and detailed to all
interested, and to some whom it did not concern,