ing end
of its predecessor. Some part of his unaccountable irritation took
wings with the cloud of smoke.

"Blessed if I can tell why I should worry," he communed. "Never saw
the girl before to-day ... shall never see her again if I put Dale
in charge.... Her father must be a special sort of fool, though, to
trust her to the care of the Devar woman.... What was it that rotter
said?--'The affair arranges itself admirably.' And he would be 'always
on hand.' What is arranging itself?... And why should Jimmy Devar be
ready, if need be, 'to turn up exactly at the right moment?' I suppose
the answer to the first bit of the acrostic is simple enough. Cynthia
Vanrenen is to become the Countess Marigny, and the Devar gang stands
in on the cash proceeds. Oh, a nice scheme! This Frenchman is posted
as to the tour. By the most curious of coincidences he will reappear
at Bournemouth, or Bristol, or in the Wye Valley. What more natural
than a day's run in company?... Ah, I've got it! Jimmy is to come
along when Marigny thinks that Cynthia will take a seat in the 59 Du
Vallon for a change--just to try the new French car.... By gad, I
shall have a word to say there.... Steady, now, George Augustus! Woa,
my boy; keep a tight hand on the reins. Why in thunder should you
concern yourself with the wretched business, anyhow?"

It was a marvelously still night. Beneath him, on an asphalted path
nearly level with the stone-strewed beach, passed a young couple. The
man's voice came up to him.

"Jones expects to be taken into partnership after this season, and I
am pretty certain to be given the management of the woolen department.
If that comes off, no more long hours in the shop for you, Lucy, but a
nice little house up there on the hill, just as quick as we can find
it."

"Oh, Charlie dear, I shall never be tired then...."

A black arm was suddenly silhouetted across the shoulders of a white
blouse, whose wearer received a reassuring hug.

"Let's reckon up," said the owner of the arm--"July, August,
September--three months, sweetheart...."

Medenham had never given a thought to marrying until his father hinted
at the notion during dinner the previous evening, and he had laughed
at it, being absolutely heart-whole. There was something irresistibly
comical then about the Earl's bland theory that Fairholme House needed
a sprightly viscountess, yet now, twenty-four hours later, he could
extract no shred of humor from the idyl of a drape