happened. He loved her. There had been hunger for her in
his voice, in his blue eyes. Presently she was going to make him feel
very sorry that he had not taken her in his arms, then and there.

"Oh, beautiful world!"

"Elsa, what in mercy's name possesses you?"

"I am mad, Martha, mad as a March hare, whatever that is!" She loved.

"People will think so, if they happen to come along and see that waist.
Please come instantly and let me finish hooking it. You act like you
did when you were ten. You never would stand still."

"Yes, and I remember how you used to yank my pig-tails. I haven't
really forgiven you yet."

"I believe it's going home that's the matter with you. Well, I for one
shall be glad to leave this horrid country. Chinamen everywhere, in
your room, at your table, under your feet. And in the streets,
Chinamen and Malays and Hindus, and I don't know what other outlandish
races and tribes. . . . Why, what's this?" cried Martha, bending to
the floor.

Elsa ran back to the room. She gave a little gasp when she saw what it
was that Martha was holding out for her inspection. It was
Warrington's letter of credit. She had totally forgotten its
existence. Across the face of the thick Manila envelope (more or less
covered with numerals that had been scribbled there by Warrington in an
attempt to compute the interest at six per cent.) which contained the
letters of credit and identification was written in a clerical hand the
owner's name. Martha could not help seeing it. Elsa explained frankly
what it was and how it had come into her possession. Martha was
horrified.

"Elsa, they might have entered your room; and your jewels lying about
everywhere! How could you be so careless?"

"But they didn't. I'll return this to Mr. Warrington in the morning;
perhaps to-night, if I see him at dinner."

"He was in the next room, and we never knew it!" The final hook
snapped into place. "Well, Wednesday our boat leaves;" as if this put
a period to all further discussion anent Mr. Parrot & Co. Nothing very
serious could happen between that time and now.

"Wednesday night." Elsa began to sing again, but not so joyously. The
petty things of every-day life were lifting their heads once more, and
of necessity she must recognize them.

She sat at the consul-general's table, informally. There was gay
inconsequential chatter, an exchange of recollections and comparisons
of cities and countries they