e.

"Oh! one is Dormer Colville, I see that. But the other--gad!"

"Why do you say gad?" asked the lady, with surprise.

"Where did he get that face from?" was the reply.

Turner took off his hat and mopped his brow; for it was very hot and the
August sun was setting over a copper sea.

"Where we all get our faces from, I suppose!" answered Mrs. St. Pierre
Lawrence, with her easy laugh. She was always mistress of the situation.
"The heavenly warehouse, one supposes. His name is Barebone. He is a
friend of Dormer's."

"Any friend of Dormer Colville's commands my interest."

Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence glanced quickly at her companion beneath the
shade of her lace-trimmed parasol.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, in a voice suddenly hard and
resentful.

"That he chooses his friends well," returned the banker, with his
guileless smile. His face was bovine, and in the heat of summer apt to
be shiny. No one would attribute an inner meaning to a stout person thus
outwardly brilliant. Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence appeared to be mollified,
and turned toward the house with a gesture inviting him to walk with
her.

"I will be frank with you," she said. "I telegraphed to tell you that
the Villa Cordouan is for the moment unfortunately filled with guests."

"What matter? I will go to the hotel. In fact, I told the driver of my
carriage to wait for further orders. I half feared that at this time of
year, you know, house would be full. I'll just shake hands with Colville
and then be off. You will let me come in after dinner, perhaps. You and
I must have a talk about money, you will remember."

There was no time to answer; for Dormer Colville, perceiving their
approach, was already hurrying down the steps of the veranda to meet
them. He laughed as he came, for John Turner's bulk made him a laughing
matter in the eyes of most men, and his good humour seemed to invite
them to frank amusement.

The greeting was, therefore, jovial enough on both sides, and after
being introduced to Loo Barebone, Mr. Turner took his leave without
farther defining his intentions for the evening.

"I do not think it matters much," Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence said to her
two guests, when he had left. "And he may not come, after all."

Her self-confidence sufficiently convinced Loo, who was always ready to
leave something to chance. But Colville shook his head.

It thus came about that sundry persons of title and importance who had
been invite