d have been
afraid in the flood; I knew that you were safe. That was the reason why
I offered you no help. My fears were for your friend. I am fully
forgiven?"

"Fully," she answered.

"Thank you! That is all I want. Good-night!"

He turned on his heel, and went down the avenue on his way to "The
Mercury" office.

CHAPTER XV.

DESMOND GOES UNDER.

In the period of pique and disappointment, when she realised that Denis
Quirk was impervious to her attractions, Sylvia Jackson suddenly awoke
to a new interest in life. At the moment she was hesitating between an
interesting decline and a fearful vendetta. But this did not deter her
from attending the Grey Town Intellectual Society's lecture on Art and
Artists, which was delivered by George Custance, R.A., nor did it
prevent the lecturer from fascinating the impressionable girl.

Until that moment Grey Town was unaware that Custance existed. A few of
the townspeople had occasionally noticed a man in a grey suit, who was
living at the "Fisherman's Retreat," near the mouth of the Grey River.
They had seen him handling a rod from the banks of the river, and had
sometimes observed him with a sketch-book in his hand, transferring a
view of the coast to paper.

But he was so quiet and unobtrusive that few persons paid any great
attention to him. It was indeed entirely by chance that the Intellectual
Society secured his services. The secretary wrote to an artist friend in
Melbourne, suggesting a lecture; the answer was short and concise:
"Sorry I cannot find time to amuse you. Try Claude Custance; he knows
more about art than any other man in Australia."

"Try Custance! Who the dickens is Custance?" the secretary asked the
president.

"Blessed if I know. Ask Gurner; he is sure to know," the president
answered.

In the club Gurner was nicknamed the Grey Town Directory. He was
regarded as a local Burke, who could fire off the pedigrees and
performances of every family in the district.

The secretary discovered him in the club, taking a novice down at
billiards.

"Do you know a man of the name of Custance?" the secretary began.

Gurner prided himself on his knowledge. To be unable to point out the
identity of any person in the town was to ruin a reputation. He paused
abruptly from the stroke he was contemplating.

"Custance, did you say?"

"Yes; Custance, an artist."

"There is a grey man of that name at the 'Fisherman's Retreat.' He is a
bit of an arti