ore, and since then she had
rejoiced in her freedom, not finding life dull in the sleepy Thames-side
suburb of London. As for Jack, his conscience gave him few twinges in
regard to these surreptitious meetings. It would be different, he told
himself, had Stephen Foster chosen to receive him as a visitor. But he
had gathered, from what Madge told him, that her father was eccentric,
and detested visitors--that he would permit nothing to break the
monotonous and regular habits of the secluded old house. Madge admitted
that one friend of his, a young man, came sometimes; but she intimated
unmistakably that she did not like him. Jack was curious to know what
business took Stephen Foster to town every day, but on that subject the
girl never spoke.

As the young artist sat watching the fire in the grate, his fancy
painted pleasing pictures. "Why should I not marry?" he mused. "Bachelor
life is well enough in its way, but it can't compare with a snug house,
and one's own dining-table, and a charming wife to drive away the
occasional blue-devils. I have money put aside, and it won't be long
till I'm making an easy twelve hundred a year. By Jove, I will--"

A noisy rap at the door interrupted Jack's train of thought, and brought
him to his feet.

"Come in!" he cried, expecting to see Nevill.

But the visitor was a telegraph boy, bearing the familiar brown
envelope. Jack signed for it, and tore open the message.

"Awfully seedy," Victor Nevill wired. "Sorry I can't get out to-night.
Am going to bed."

"No answer," said Jack, dismissing the boy. With his hands in his
pockets he strolled undecidedly about the studio for a couple of
minutes. "I hope nothing serious is the matter with Nevill," he
reflected. "He's not the sort of a chap to go to bed unless he feels
pretty bad. What shall I do now? I must be quick about it if I want
to get any dinner in town. It's past eight, and--"

There was the sound of slow footsteps out in the passage, followed by
the nervous jingling of the electric bell.

"Who can that be?" Jack muttered.

He pulled a cord that turned the gas higher in the big circlet of jets
overhead, and opened the door curiously. The man who entered the studio
was a complete stranger, and it was certain that he was not an
Englishman, if dress and appearance could decide that fact. He was
very tall and well-built, with a handsome face, so deeply tanned as
to suggest a recent residence in a tropical country. His musta