not flattering myself when I say that Marguerite is tremendously fond
of me. I haven't been especially fortunate, and I have never had the
money which would enable me to offer Marguerite the kind of life which
a girl so delicately nurtured should have."

"Very admirable," said Bones, and his voice came to his own ears as the
voice of a stranger.

"A few days ago," Mr. Hyane went on, "I was offered a tea plantation
for fourteen thousand pounds. The prospects were so splendid that I
went to a financier who is a friend of mine, and he undertook to
provide the money, on which, of course, I agreed to pay an interest.
The whole future, which had been so black, suddenly became as bright as
day. I came to Marguerite, as you saw, with the news of my good luck,
and asked her if she would be my wife."

Bones said nothing; his face was a mask.

"And now I come to my difficulty, Mr. Tibbetts," said Hyane. "This
afternoon Marguerite and I played upon you a little deception which I
hope you will forgive."

"Certainly, certainly" mumbled Bones, and gripped the arms of his chair
the tighter.

"When I took Marguerite to lunch to-day," said Hyane, "it was to
be--married."

"Married!" repeated Bones dully, and Mr. Hyane nodded.

"Yes, we were married at half-past one o'clock to-day at the Marylebone
Registry Office, and I was hoping that Marguerite would be able to tell
you her good news herself. Perhaps"--he smiled--"it isn't as good news
to her as it is to me. But this afternoon a most tragic thing
happened."

He threw away his cigarette, rose, and paced the room with agitated
strides. He had practised those very strides all that morning, for he
left nothing to chance.

"At three o'clock this afternoon I called upon my financier friend, and
discovered that, owing to heavy losses which he had incurred on the
Stock Exchange, he was unable to keep his promise. I feel terrible,
Mr. Tibbetts! I feel that I have induced Marguerite to marry me under
false pretences. I had hoped to-morrow morning to have gone to the
agents of the estate and placed in their hands the cheque for fourteen
thousand pounds, and to have left by the next mail boat for India."

He sank into the chair, his head upon his hands, and Bones watched him
curiously.

Presently, and after an effort, Bones found his voice.

"Does your--your--wife know?" he asked.

Jackson shook his head.

"No," he groaned, "that's the terrible thing about it. She