shoulders being
visible,--but it was the picture of a strong, clear-cut face, with
thick, wavy black hair just tingeing with gray, a drooping moustache,
and long English whiskers. The eyes were heavy-browed, and, though
partially shaded by the gold-rimmed _pince-nez_, were piercing and fine.
Mr. Van Antwerp was unquestionably a fine-looking man.

"Here comes Hayne," said Royce. "Show it to him. He likes pictures;
though I wouldn't like this one if I were in his place."

Mr. Hayne stopped in some surprise when hailed, greeted Mrs. Waldron
warmly, and bowed courteously to Mrs. Buxton, who was watching him
narrowly.

"Want to see a picture of the man you ought to go and perforate?" asked
Webster, with that lofty indifference which youngsters have to the
ravages of the tender passion on subjects other than themselves.

"To whom do you refer?" asked Hayne, smiling gravely, and little
imagining what was in store for him.

"This," said Webster, holding out the card. Hayne took it, gave one
glance, started, seized it with both hands, studied it eagerly, while
his own face rapidly paled, then looked up with quick, searching eyes.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"The man who's engaged to Miss Travers,--Mr. Van Antwerp."

"This--_this_--Mr. Van Antwerp!" exclaimed Hayne, his face white as a
sheet. "Here, take it, Royce!" And in an instant he had turned and gone.

"Well, I'll be hanged if I knew he was _that_ hard hit," drawled
Webster. "Did you, Royce?"

But Royce did not answer.

A gorgeous moonlight is bathing the Jersey coast in sparkling silver.
The tumbling billows come thundering in to the shining strand, and
sending their hissing, seething, whirling waters, all shimmer and
radiance, to the very feet of the groups of spectators. There are
hundreds of people scattered here and there along the shingle, and among
the groups a pale-faced young man in tweed travelling-suit has made his
way to a point where he can command a view of all the passers-by. It is
nearly eleven o'clock before they begin to break up and seek the broad
corridors of the brilliantly-lighted hotel. A great military band of
nearly forty pieces is playing superbly at intervals, and every now and
then, as some stirring martial strains come thrilling through the air, a
young girl in a group near at hand beats time with her pretty foot and
seems to quiver with the influence of the soldier melodies. A tall,
dark-eyed, dark-haired man bends devotedly over he