mischief was not lost upon Blachland, who remarked:

"Does that fact denationalise me, Mrs Fenham? You said I couldn't be
counted a Britisher."

"Well, you know what I meant."

"Oh, perfectly."

There was a veiled cut-and-thrust between these two: imperceptible to
the others--save one.

That one was Lyn. Her straight instinct and true ear had warned her.

"She is an adventuress," was the girl's mental verdict. "An impostor,
who is hiding something. Some day it will come out." Now she said to
herself, watching the two, "He doesn't like her. No, he doesn't." And
there was more satisfaction in this conclusion than even its framer was
aware of.

Throughout the evening, too, Hilary found himself keenly observing new
developments, or the possibility of such. At supper, they were mostly
shooting all the day's bag over again, and going back over the incidents
of other and similar days. Percival, in his seat next Hermia, was
dividing his attention between his host's multifold reminiscence and his
next-door neighbour, somewhat to the advantage of the latter. A new
development came, however, and it was after they had all got up from the
table, and some, at any rate, had gone out on to the stoep to see the
moon rise. Then it was, in the sudden transition from light to
darkness, Blachland felt his hand stealthily seized and something thrust
into it--something which felt uncommonly like a tiny square of folded
paper. Hermia's wrap brushed him at the time, and Hermia's voice,
talking evenly to Percival on the other side, arrested his ear. There
was a good deal more talk, and lighting of pipes, and presently it was
voted too cold to remain outside. But, on re-entering, the party had
undergone diminution by two. Mrs Earle was looking more discontented
than ever.

"What's the odds?" chuckled her jolly spouse, with a quizzical wink at
his two male guests. "They're a brace of Britishers. They only want to
talk home shop. Fine woman that Mrs Fenham, isn't she, Blachland?"

"Yes. How did you pick her up?" he replied, noticing that the
discontented look had deepened on the face of his hostess, and bearing
in mind Bayfield's insinuations, thought that warm times might be in
store for Hermia.

"Oh, the wife found her. I hadn't anything to do with it. But she's
first-rate in her own line: gets the nippers on no end. Makes 'em
learn, you know."

Would surprises never end? thought Hilary Blachland. Here was an