nk not," whispered Laing, who failed to
identify 'Aunt Sarah' with the elderly person on the trunk.

"I shouldn't have been happy if she had," said Mary.

"I simply wouldn't have let her," said John, in that authoritative tone
which so well became him.

"No more would I in your place, old chap," murmured Mr. Laing.

Mary rose.

"Thanks for all your kindness, John. Good-night."

"I'm so glad you've had a pleasant day. Good-night, Mary."

So they parted--with a good-night as calm, as decorous, as frankly
fraternal as one could wish (or wish otherwise). Yet its very virtues
undid it in the prematurely suspicious eyes of Arthur Laing. For no
sooner was he left alone than he threw down his paper and began to
chuckle.

"All for my benefit, that, eh? 'Goodnight, Mary!' 'Good-night, John!'
Lord! Lord!" and he rose, lit a cigarette, and ordered a
brandy-and-soda. And ever and again he smiled. He felt very acute
indeed.

So vain is it for either wisdom or simplicity, candor or
diplomacy--nay, for facts themselves--to struggle against a Man with a
Theory. Mr. Laing went to bed no more doubting that Mary and John were
man and wife than he doubted that he had 'spotted' the winner of the
Derby. Certitude could no farther go.

CHAPTER VII

THE SIGHTS OF AVIGNON

"It's a curious thing," observed Roger Deane, "but this fellow Baedeker
always travels the opposite way to what I do. When I'm coming back,
he's always going out, and vice versa. It makes him precious difficult
to understand, I can tell you, Miss Dora. However I think I've got him
now. Listen to this! 'Marseilles to Arles (Amphitheatre starred) one
day. Arles to Avignon (Palace of the Popes starred) two days--slow
going that--Avignon to----'"

"Do you want to _squat_ in this wretched country, Sir Roger?" demanded
Dora angrily.

A faint smile played round Sir Roger's lips.

"You're the only one who's in a hurry." he remarked.

"No, I'm not. Mr. Ellerton is in just as much of a hurry."

"Then he bears disappointment better."

"What in the world did papa and--well, and Lady Deane, you know--want
to stop here for?"

"You don't seem to understand how interesting Marseilles is. Let me
read you a passage. 'Marseilles was a colony founded about 600
B.C.'--What? Oh, all right! We'll skip a bit. 'In 1792 hordes of
galley-slaves were sent hence to Paris, where they committed frightful
excesses.' That's what Maud and your father are going to do. 'It was