icity in the world, and that touch
of evil that spices life is entirely beyond her. But however that might
be, I tell you this, my lord: Gerald Edmonson is always master, and
always will be."

"Yes," assented his hearer.

"I only hope the extent of my impecuniosity will not cross the water
with me. I have never pretended to be rich, but I have said that my
expectations were excellent. So they are; for you know, Bulchester, the
heiress is not all my errand to these outlandish colonies. I have
expectations there. Rather strange ones, to be sure, so strange, and to
be come at so strangely, that if I can make anything out of them I shall
enjoy it a thousand times more than by any stupid old way of
inheritance."

"It strikes me, though, you would not object to the stupid if a good
plum should fall down on your head from an ancestral tree."

Edmonson laughed.

"You have me there, Bul," he said. "But, on your honor, you are not to
betray my plans, or I have no chance at all," he added, suddenly facing
his companion.

"What do you take me for, a traitor?"

"No," exclaimed Edmonson with an oath.

"For a tattler, then?"

"No," came the answer again. "Only, inadvertence is sometimes as
mischievous in its results."

"I, inadvertent?" cried Bulchester.

His listener smiled slyly. The other felt that caution was his strong
point, and Edmonson's diplomacy would not assault this vigorously; his
aim had been merely to warn Bulchester and strengthen the defences. Soon
after this they reached the inn, where they were boisterously greeted by
their companions, who had been waiting for them in what was then one of
the fashionable public houses of London, though long since fallen out of
date and forgotten.

"Don't be flattered," said Edmonson aside, "all this welcome is not for
us; the feast is to begin now that we have arrived." And a cynical smile
flashed over his handsome face.

It was hours after this. The high revel had gone on with jest, and
laugh, and song, with play, too, and some purses were empty that before
had been none too well filled. Through it all Edmonson, the life of the
party, kept the control over himself that many had lost. There was no
credit due to him for the fact that he could drink more wine without
being overcome than any other man there. His face was flushed with it,
his eyes somewhat blood-shot and his fair hair disordered as, at last,
looking at his opposite neighbor, he nodded to him, leaned ac