a tailor in Conduit Street, and they had turned him into--what
he was.

"Yes, Byng thed good-night to me--deah old boy," he repeated. "'I'm so
damned thleepy, and I have to be up early in the morning,' he thed to
me."

"Byng's example's good enough. I'm off," said Fleming, stretching up
his arms and yawning.

"Byng ought to get up earlier in the morning--much earlier," interposed
De Lancy Scovel, with a meaning note in his voice.

"Why?" growled out Barry Whalen.

"He'd see the Outlander early-bird after the young domestic worm," was
the slow reply.

For a moment a curious silence fell upon the group. It was as though
some one had heard what had been said--some one who ought not to have
heard.

That is exactly what had happened. Rudyard had not gone home. He had
started to do so; but, remembering that he had told Krool to come at
twelve o'clock if any cables arrived, that he might go himself to the
cable-office, if necessary, and reply, he passed from the hallway into
a little room off the card-room, where there was a sofa, and threw
himself down to rest and think. He knew that the crisis in South Africa
must come within a few hours; that Oom Paul would present an ultimatum
before the British government was ready to act; and that preparations
must be made on the morrow to meet all chances and consequences.
Preparations there had been, but conditions altered from day to day,
and what had been arranged yesterday morning required modification this
evening.

He was not heedless of his responsibilities because he was at the
gaming-table; but these were days when he could not bear to be alone.
Yet he could not find pleasure in the dinner-parties arranged by
Jasmine, though he liked to be with her--liked so much to be with her,
and yet wondered how it was he was not happy when he was beside her.
This night, however, he had especially wished to be alone with her, to
dine with her a deux, and he had been disappointed to find that she had
arranged a little dinner and a theatre-party. With a sigh he had begged
her to arrange her party without him, and, in unusual depression, he
had joined "the gang," as Jasmine called it, at De Lancy Scovel's house.

Here he moved in a kind of gloom, and had a feeling as though he were
walking among pitfalls. A dread seemed to descend upon him and deaden
his natural buoyancy. At dinner he was fitful in conversation, yet
inclined to be critical of the talk around him. Upon those who tal