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"But his threats on the previous night?" objected Mildred.

"Mere foolish speaking. And, far from proving his guilt, they, to my
mind, hint at his innocence. Had he intended to kill your brother he
would have been more circumspect in his language."

"But if Mr. Lancaster is innocent, why did he run away?"

Jarman shrugged his shoulders. "You can't expect a man to have all
his wits about him at such a moment. He was"--here Jarman was
about to explain the drugging, but on second thoughts he did not
think it wise to appear to know too much--"he was in the house
alone with your brother, whom he had threatened," he continued,
"and when the murder took place saw that there was every chance
of his being accused. To avoid being arrested on circumstantial
evidence, he fled."

"Have you any idea where he is?" asked Miss Starth, quickly.

"No," replied Jarman, deliberately. "I have not seen Frank Lancaster
for some months. He was always in town, and, as you know, I rarely
go up. You believe him to be guilty?"

"Everything seems to point to his guilt."

"I admit that. But I am convinced from what I know of him that he is
perfectly innocent."

"If so," said Mildred, shrewdly, "he must at least know who killed my
brother, seeing that he left the house _after_ the death."

"I don't profess to explain," said Eustace, who was unwilling to lie
more than was necessary to shield Lancaster. "Did your brother ask
Lancaster to call on him?"

"No!" replied Mildred, decisively. "Walter was rather afraid of Mr.

Lancaster. They were bad friends for some reason, and Mr. Lancaster
threatened to give Walter a thrashing."

"Did he threaten to kill him?"

Mildred hesitated. "Well, Walter said that Mr. Lancaster would shoot
him if he got the chance, as he always carried a revolver."

"Lancaster only carried a revolver when he went slumming."

"He wasn't slumming when he visited at Sand Lane."

"No! I can't explain that. All I can say is that, from what I know of
Lancaster, he might have thrashed your brother, but he certainly
would not murder him."

"But Mr. Darrel tells me that Mr. Lancaster was very bitter against my
brother."

"When did he tell you that?" said Jarman, who knew Darrel, and,
regarding him as a possible rival, did not approve of him overmuch.

"To-day, when I got up. Mr. Darrel is staying at the Rectory for a few
days. You know, he is a friend of the rector's."

"Yes, I know," replied Eustace, thinking he must put Frank on his

guard, since Darrel might recognise him. "Why did Darrel come
down?"

"On a visit to the rector. But he also said that he came to see if he
could help me in any way."

"I can do all the help that is necessary," said Jarman, jealously.

"I told him so, and, then, Captain Berry is anxious to assist."

"H'm!" said Eustace, pulling his big moustache. "Mrs. Perth told me
that he had offered a reward. Very good of him."
"Captain Berry was a great friend of Walter's. He wrote me the sad
news almost immediately."

"Almost too immediately," replied Jarman. "What time did you get
his letter?"

"By the eleven post."

"Then it must have been posted in London before midnight, and the
fact of the murder was not known to the general public till next
morning. How came Captain Berry to have such early information?"

"I don't know," said Miss Starth, blankly. "Do you think--"

"I think nothing," interposed the big man, quickly. "I have never met
Berry, and I know nothing about him. But Mrs. Perth doesn't seem to
entertain a good opinion of him."

Mildred, in spite of her grief and sadness, could not help smiling.
"You know that Mrs. Perth never approved of Walter's friends. She
was my governess, you remember, and still thinks it's her duty to
look after me."

"And after that Denham man."

"Oh! he is only a boy--" said Mildred, with contempt, "and a very silly
boy. Walter brought him down twice, but I don't suppose he'll come
here again."

"Where did Starth meet him?"

"At Captain Berry's. Mr. Denham came from San Francisco with
Captain Berry. They are great friends."

"And thereby hangs a tale," muttered Jarman, who was intensely

suspicious of the skipper and his associates. "Well, and what are you
going to do now, Miss Starth?"
"I can do nothing," she said, with a helpless gesture. "I have seen
our lawyer about Walter's affairs, and Walter's income comes to me.
I don't know what to do about his death except wait."

"For the capture of Lancaster?"

Miss Starth moved uneasily. "I am not revengeful," she said, "and
my brother was not such a good man as he should have been. But if
Mr. Lancaster is guilty he ought to be punished."

"Yes. _If_ he is guilty. But presuming his innocence--"

"He will have an opportunity of proving that when he is tried."

"Ah!" said Jarman, pulling again at his moustache, "then you

anticipate that he will be captured?"

"Captain Berry says he will never rest until he is captured. We had a

long talk about the matter."

"Has Berry any clue?"

"No. Neither has Inspector Herny. Since that servant saw Mr.
Lancaster leave the house, nothing more has been heard of him. I
don't want him to be captured. His being hanged wont bring poor
Walter to life, and that paper makes me doubt if he is guilty."

"Did you show this to Berry?" asked Jarman, who still held the paper.

"No. I showed it to no one, not even to Mrs. Perth. I wished to

consult you about it."

"I am glad you said nothing, Miss Starth," said Jarman. "May I keep
this paper? I may be able to find out something, you know."

"Certainly. I shall be glad if you will help me."

"I wish to help you in every way. You know that."

Jarman's voice shook a little, and the woman in Mildred took the
alarm. She rose to go, whereupon Jarman insisted on seeing her to
Rose Cottage. "But there is no need," protested Mildred, "the moon
is shining, and I am quite safe. Don't trouble."

"It's a pleasure," insisted Eustace, putting on his cap, and being thus
obstinate Mildred let him have his own way. She was even secretly
pleased, as she liked Eustace extremely.

They stepped out into the moonlight, and took their careful way
between the haycocks. The night was very still. Occasionally there
would float towards them an outburst of song from the copse-hidden
nightingales, diversified by the hoot of an owl, or the whirr of a
distant train steaming towards London. Mildred had simply thrown a
lace shawl over her head to run across to the Shanty, and her face
looked wonderfully pure and white in the ivory radiance of the
moon. Eustace felt his pulses throb with suppressed excitement, and
the blood tingled pleasantly in his veins. He was in love with Mildred,
he was jealous of Darrel, and these passions lifted him somewhat
out of his usual self. The romance of San Francisco appeared the
veriest prose beside this lyrical night. Yet he felt that he could not
break in upon the grief of the girl with his tale of love, and so walked
sedately by her side, holding himself well in hand.

As they passed into the lane, and under the chequered shadows of
the elms, Mildred felt the influence of her companion. She was not in
love with Jarman, or with anyone, but she liked and admired him
immensely, and, granted that the fairy prince did not come along,
was not unprepared to listen should he speak. Still, the feeling of
sorrow for the death of her brother lay heavily upon her, and she
sighed as the cool night wind ruffled her dark hair. After a time, to
break the silence, she asked Jarman about the new secretary.

"Mrs. Perth told me that he was very handsome," she said.

"Oh, he's good-lookin' enough," replied Eustace, "but his spectacles
rather spoil him. Weak eyes, you know."

"I was not aware that you intended to engage a secretary."

"I have so much work to do."

"You might have engaged me," said Miss Starth, reproachfully. "I can
type quite as quickly as you can dictate, and you know I am always
glad to assist you."

"I know that," said Jarman, suppressing a strong inclination to take

her in his arms. "We have done some work together."

"_You_ have. I don't know what I should have done without you to
correct my verses and help me to get them printed. I was only
sixteen when I showed you my first poem."

"Yes. And very shy you were over it. Natural in a schoolgirl."

"I am not a schoolgirl now, Mr. Jarman."

Who knew that better than Eustace? "I wish you were," he
muttered.

"Why? You should be glad to see me grow up, Mr.--"

"Why so formal, Miss Starth--Mildred. Call me Eustace."

"I should like to--Eustace," said the girl, frankly--too frankly, alas! for
any feeling of love to lurk in the words. "You know how fond I am of
you," and she squeezed his arm playfully.

"Mildred!" He could stand it no longer, although he felt that this was

not the time to speak of love. But the influence of the hour, of her
words, and the feeling of jealousy inculcated by Darrel's arrival made
him confess his secret. "Mildred?"
"Yes." She detected the change in his voice, and grew nervous.

"I--I--love you!"

"Mr. Jarman--I mean Eustace!"

"I didn't mean to speak," went on the man, rapidly. "I know you
have heavy troubles to face. But I wish to help you. If you would
accept me as your husband, if you would lean upon me through life,
I would do all that I could to save you from being worried."

Under the shadow of the trees, a stone's-throw from the white gate
of Rose Cottage, Mildred stood still, her hands clasped before her. A
shaft of light piercing the leafage shed its radiance on her beautiful
face, and Eustace put a constraint on himself. Under his breath he
quoted the Arabic proverb: "Blessed be Allah who made beautiful
woman."

"Eustace, I never thought of this!"

"And you are angry?"

"No--no. I'm not exactly angry. But--"

"You love me, then--you love me!" She could feel his breath on her
cheek, and shrank away from the passion expressed in his deep
voice.

"I am not angry, but I don't love you. Wait!" She flung up her hand
as she heard his sigh. "I like you--oh, yes, I like you more than
anyone I ever met."

"More than Darrel?"

"Mr. Darrel; I don't care a bit for him. I wish you wouldn't talk so."
She stamped her foot. "You know how troubled I am about poor
Walter's death, and we were getting on so nicely."
"You and Walter?"

"No, poor fellow. You and I. We were such companions, and I always
told you everything--and now talking like this!" Miss Starth's eyes
filled with tears. "It's a shame."

"I can't help loving you."

"Well, I love you--in a way. No, don't come any nearer. I--I--looked
on you as a--a--father," sobbed Mildred.

"Oh, Heavens! There's no more to be said after that. Let me remain

in that relationship."

"No. That is"--Mildred dried her tears, and became alarmed because
she thought she was inflicting pain--"that is--you know, I don't mind-
-well, if you can't guess."

"Does that mean you will marry me?" asked Jarman, catching his
breath.

Mildred rolled her handkerchief up into a ball, and became more of a

woman and less of a schoolgirl. "I will marry you on one condition."

"What is that?" he asked, eagerly.

"That you find out and punish the person who killed Walter."

Jarman's heart leaped. "Do you mean Lancaster?" he asked,

alarmed.

"No--if what that paper says is true. I mean the real person. You say
that Mr. Lancaster is innocent, and I know you too well to doubt
your word. Find the real person, and--" she bent forward as though
to seal the bargain with a kiss. But before her face could touch his
own she drew back, and flittered towards the gate.

"Mildred!" he cried. "Mildred!"

"Good-night!" floated back faintly, and he heard the closing of the
door. Alone with the night and with his great happiness, he tried to
realise his good fortune. "She doesn't love me yet," he thought, as
he walked back to the Shanty on tip-toe excitement, "but she will--
she will. Heaven bless her How could I have loved Mrs. Anchor? This
is the real thing, and Mildred--oh! what a boy I am yet." He wiped
his face. "Of course I'll find out who killed her brother, both to win
her and to save Frank. Dear Frank--poor fellow!" Jarman felt
immensely sorry for Lancaster being, as it were, out in the cold. "I
must tell him."

And tell him he did, blurting out the news almost before he filled his
pipe. "I say, Frank, I'm going to start in and find out who killed
Starth!" he declared.

"Miss Starth has asked you to do so?" said Frank, trying to suppress
his jealousy.

"Yes. And she is going to reward me, if I am successful, with her

hand."

Lancaster stared. "I--I--hope you'll be happy," he gulped. "She'll get

a good husband."

"And I an angel for a wife."

"An archangel--a Madonna--a saint," said Frank, incoherently. But his

heart ached.
 CHAPTER VIII

A PLEASANT SURPRISE

The Rectory was like a bee-hive. Mr. Arrow was the happy father of
ten healthy children, and his wife was pretty well worn out looking
after them. One of the boys was at Sandhurst, a couple were at
school, but the majority of the children remained to make the old
house lively. Why Darrel, who loved his comforts, should come to
such a noisy establishment, Arrow could not conjecture, although he
was glad to welcome him. Darrel himself declared that he came to
see his old tutor, and Arrow accepted the flattering compliment. But
when he found that his guest paid three visits to Rose Cottage in as
many days, the rector began to mistrust the excuse. However, he
said nothing to Darrel, as the Rhodesian was rich, and might be
trusted to do something towards launching the young Arrows into
the bleak world.

Darrel was a big man, as huge as Jarman, but black and sulky in his
looks. His manners were soft, and he resembled a large tom-cat
more than anything else, particularly when speaking, as he positively
purred. With the children he was a favourite, as he always presented
them with gifts; but it was understood that on condition of this
largess, they were to leave him alone. Consequently, he had all his
time to himself, and spent it dodging about Rose Cottage, or filling
the little parlour with his gigantic person.

Mrs. Perth rather liked him, as he was always deferential to her, and
she was not averse to his courtship of Mildred, for that was what his
continual, and not always welcome, presence amounted to. But the
girl herself thought Darrel possessed a violent temper, and always
declared that she would not marry him if he were as rich as
Vanderbilt. However, as the Rhodesian came ostentatiously to
condole with her on account of her trouble, she could not very well
express herself as she wished. Moreover, in a measure, she was now
engaged to Jarman, but she told no one of the agreement she had
made with him, not even Mrs. Perth. It was now over a fortnight
since the death of Starth, and as he was buried, Mildred was
recovering her spirits. She had never cared particularly for her
brother, who was something of a bully, and had seen so little of him
that his death made scarcely any difference in her life. Consequently,
beyond that she was in mourning, she showed little sign of the
catastrophe. And Walter had only himself to thank for the calmness
with which she accepted his decease.

One afternoon Mrs. Perth was out, and Darrel sat with Mildred
drinking tea in the parlour. It was a small room filled with chintz-
covered furniture, and looked extremely cool. The window was open,
and Darrel, who felt the heat, sat near it cup in hand. He was
dressed in spotless flannels, and looked better-looking and less black
than usual. Mildred, in her sombre dress, was fanning herself
vigorously.

"I wish I could feel as cool as you do," she said, enviously.

"It's more looks than anything else," replied Darrel in his heavy way.
"I'm warm enough--quite. How I'll stand town I don't know."

"When are you returning?" asked Miss Starth, indifferently.

"To-morrow--if you don't want me to stay."

"I have no control over your movements, Mr. Darrel."

But the coldness of the tone had no effect. "I mean, that there may
be something I can do for you. Now that your brother is dead--"
"Mr. Jarman is looking after things for me, thank you," said Mildred,
stiffly. "The only thing you can do is to find out who killed Walter."

Darrel raised his bushy eyebrows. "There's no difficulty about that,

Miss Starth. The verdict of the jury--"

"Was wrong. I can't believe that this Mr. Lancaster committed so

horrible and apparently purposeless a crime."

"Have you any reason to believe him innocent?"

Mildred, for obvious reasons, did not answer this question directly. "I
can't see his motive," she said, looking down pensively.

"The evidence of that lady at the inquest--"

"I know nothing about any lady," retorted the girl, flushing. Then, to
change the conversation and mark her sense of Darrel's bad
manners, she asked a question. "Did you know Mr. Lancaster?"

Darrel nodded. "I thought I told you," he said. "He was sitting next
to me on that night I saw you in the theatre."

"The night before the tragedy," said Mildred, shuddering. "What is

he like to look at?"

"Fair chap, blue eyes, and--"

"Wait!" Miss Starth recollected the man who had stared at her. "Do
you mean to say that he was the gentleman who sat next to you?"

"Yes. I said so. Fair hair, and--"

"I know," she broke in hurriedly. "He was looking at me; our eyes
met, and he--oh he didn't look like a man who would commit
murder."
"I shouldn't have thought it of him myself," said Darrel; "but if he
didn't, who did? That's the point."

"I wish you to find that out if you will."

"Certainly. I'll do my best, on conditions."

"Conditions!" Mildred stared, and looked annoyed.

"Yes," said the Rhodesian, stolidly; "promise to be my wife, and I'll

hunt down Lancaster."

Mildred gasped. This was the same bargain as she had made with
Eustace, so the situation was duplicated. But she more than liked
Jarman, and cared very little for Darrel. Moreover, now that she
knew the suspected man was the one who had stared at her, and to
whose face she had taken a fancy, she was inclined to agree with
Eustace that he was innocent. So refined a man could not possibly
have committed so brutal a crime. And, finally, she was displeased
that Darrel should again broach a subject about which she had
asked him to be silent.

"I told you before, and I tell you again, Mr. Darrel, that I cannot
become your wife," she said, with some heat.

"Why not?" asked the man, stolidly.

Mildred grew exasperated. "Because I don't love you."

"Love may come after marriage."

"I prefer it to come before," she declared. "I won't marry you."

"Yes, you will," said Darrel, closing his obstinate mouth; "your
brother was in favour of the match."

"At one time, but not lately."

"I know, and I can't understand why he changed."

"Whether he changed or not doesn't matter," said Miss Starth,

sharply; "the thing is out of the question."

"No, it isn't. I've made up my mind to marry you, and marry you I
shall."

She rose and turned on him indignantly. "Do you threaten me?"

Darrel rose also, but did not reply directly. "I never made up my
mind yet to get a thing that I didn't succeed," he said. "I wanted to
be rich, and I am rich. I want you to be my wife, and I intend to
make you my wife."

"No! No! No!" She stamped her foot three times.

"Oh, yes," said Darrel, calmly. "Think it over. I go to town to-morrow,

but will come back in a month. I'll expect my answer then."

"Take it now," she cried, indignant at his impertinence. "No!"

"That's not the answer I require," he said, collecting his cane and
hat. "You must say yes."

"I won't!"

Darrel took not the slightest notice, but held out his hand. Mildred
declined to take it, and repeated her refusal. The big man turned to
the door. "I'll come in a month for my answer," said he, and went
out.

Mildred was very angry at his persistence, but she had quite as
strong a will as Darrel, and determined that nothing would induce
her to become his wife. But she dreaded his return, as she knew he
was not easily shaken off. For the moment she was minded to tell
Eustace, but a reflection that such a confidence might lead to a
quarrel, made her change her mind. "But I'll never marry that
Darrel," she declared. "Never--never--never! I wonder, indeed, if I'll
marry Eustace. I like him, but I don't love him. And one should love
when--" here she blushed and sat down. Her thoughts wandered to
the pleasant face of the young man in the theatre, and she recalled
his persistent gaze. He had evidently been attracted by her, and she-
- "No," said Mildred to herself, "I'll never believe that he murdered
Walter!" after which remark she began regretting that she had made
a bargain with Eustace. Decidedly her conduct was flighty, but late
events had unsettled her mind. She was not usually so vacillating,
but at the present moment she was too bewildered and upset to
know her own mind, save that she would never marry Darrel. "And
perhaps not Eustace," she concluded.

Meantime, Eustace was in the seventh heaven. For the last few days
he had gone about singing, and Lancaster was rather exasperated.
It seemed unfair that Jarman should have all the happiness, and he
should have nothing but trouble. Then he blamed himself for being
selfish. Jarman had been, and was, a good friend to him, and
Jarman had known Mildred for many years. He, Frank, had not even
spoken to her, so it was ridiculous and ungrateful of him to be
jealous of his best friend on such slight grounds. He did all he knew
to preserve a cheerful face, but at times grew gloomy. Eustace put
his fit of the dismals down to a too vivid realisation of his danger. He
would not allow Frank to speak more than was necessary about the
murder, as he did not wish him to brood over it. But he was not idle,
and one morning announced that he was going to to town.

"I'll be away for the day," he said, "so you can make yourself
comfortable, Frank. Look out that Darrel doesn't see you."

"Darrel has gone back to town," said Lancaster, "so one of the young
Arrows told me. He returns in a month."

"Mildred will be glad he has gone. He was always hanging round

her."
"Why didn't you put a stop to that?"

"I have not the right as yet. You see, I am not formally engaged to
Mildred, and will not be, until I have discovered the assassin."

"Why not denounce me, and bring about the engagement at once?"
said Frank, with some bitterness.

Jarman stared. "Because in the first place you are innocent, and in
the second I should not like to build up my life's happiness on your
ruin. I thought you knew me better than that, my friend."

"Forgive me. I am a beast," said Lancaster, penitently. "But the fact

is, I--I--"--he gulped down the truth--"I am not myself."

"Don't wonder at it, considering the fix you are in. Cheer up. I may
learn something to-day likely to give me a clue to the truth."

"From whom?"

"From your friend, Fairy Fan."

Lancaster jumped up from the breakfast-table. "What?"

"You look surprised, but it is so. I am going to see her to-day--by

appointment!" and he displayed a perfumed note.

Frank glanced over it, and discovered that Miss Berry would be
pleased to see Mr. Leonard Grant at her rooms in Bloomsbury at one
o'clock on that day.

"Why did you write to her?" asked Frank, handing this back.

"The use of my _nom de plume_ should tell you that," replied

Jarman. "I want to have a quiet chat with that lady, so I wrote as
Leonard Grant--under which name I produce my sketches--and
asked her if I could do one for her. As I have a certain reputation,
she seems inclined to entertain the idea."
"Why didn't you write under your own name?"

"What an ass you are, Frank! Firstly, the _nom de plume_ is required
to intimate who will write the sketch, since Eustace Jarman is
unknown as a dramatist. Secondly, did I write in my own name I
might give myself into the hand of Berry. He must have learnt from
Starth that I am your friend, and thus might seek to know too
much."

"You could baffle his inquiries."

"Oh, yes. But if he chose to come down and see me, I could not
baffle his spotting you. It's best to be on the safe side, and even in
that disguise the man is clever enough to recognise you."

"That doesn't say much for my disguise," said Frank, grimly.

"Pooh! The make-up is good enough to baffle a casual observer, but

Captain Berry is exceptionally clever. He might not recognise you,
certainly; on the other hand, he might. No, Frank, as Leonard Grant
I'll see Miss Berry and learn all I can."

"She won't discuss the matter with you."

"Perhaps not, but I'll try and get her on the subject. I may even
meet with Berry, and then we'll see if I can't pump him. So you
make yourself comfortable here, Frank, while I go to town. I think
you might take the newspaper to Mrs. Perth, and meet Mildred."

"I don't know her," said Frank, flushing.

"Mrs. Perth will introduce you," said Jarman, "and I am sure you will
get on well with her."

"Too well," thought Frank. But he said nothing, not even if he would
go over to Rose Cottage.
Jarman bustled about, and finally set off across the heath, which
was the nearest way to the railway station. His plan of action was to
seek Berry and his niece as a complete stranger, and to learn, if he
could, what they were about to do. He had a clever pair to deal with,
but Jarman was smart himself, and not for nothing had rubbed
shoulders with the astute citizens of the great republic. Moreover,
apart from his wish to please Mildred and to save Frank, there was a
certain element of exhilaration about this chase after an unknown
criminal that appealed to his love of adventure.

"I've got detective fever," he thought, as he swung into a third-class

smoking, "and the disease won't be cured till I run the true assassin
to earth."

On arriving at Liverpool Street, shortly after twelve, he walked to the

tube railway at the Mansion House Station, and thereby gained
Oxford Street. From Tottenham Court Road he strolled to
Bloomsbury Crescent, where Miss Berry dwelt with her uncle, and
reached the door of the house a few minutes before one o'clock. A
neatly-dressed maidservant admitted him into a cool drawing-room.
While the maid informed her mistress of Jarman's arrival, or rather
that Mr. Leonard Grant was at hand, Eustace looked curiously round
the room. From its contents he hoped to learn something of the
character of Fairy Fan.

But there was no need to read her character in this way. Almost
before he commenced his examination she appeared at the door,
and came forward with a smile. Suddenly she stopped, and the
colour ebbed from her face. Jarman gasped and stared, as well he
might.

"Mrs. Anchor!" he said, under his breath. "Mrs. Anchor I might have
guessed."
 CHAPTER IX

THE OLD ROMANCE

Mrs. Anchor, _alias_ Miss Fanny Berry, was a pretty little creature
even when the searching morning sunlight was full on her face. She
had no absolute need of paint and powder to make her attractive. In
a tea gown of delicate blue, with a head of fluffy golden hair, and a
piquant face, she looked--as the saying is--as pretty as a picture.

Jarman eyed her sternly, and wondered how he could ever have
loved a woman possessed of such obviously meretricious charms.
Her mouth was hard, and there was an unpleasant glitter in her blue
eyes which did not bode well for Eustace. After her failure in San
Francisco the lady was intensely suspicious of Jarman, deeming him
too scrupulous. Eustace saw the inquiring light in her eyes, and,
having his own game to play, he pretended to forget the past, and
to be overjoyed at the meeting. Now that he knew who Fairy Fan
was, he felt quite certain that Captain Berry would answer readily to
the name of Sakers, and hoped to see him before the termination of
the interview. Meanwhile, to abate the suspicions of the little lady,
he made himself agreeable. And Eustace could be extremely
pleasant when it suited his book.

"Mrs. Anchor," he said, advancing with outstretched hands, "this _is_

a surprise."

"An agreeable one, I hope?" replied the lady with an artificial laugh,
but searching his face keenly.

"Very agreeable. I have often thought of you, Mrs. Anchor."

Womanlike her thoughts reverted to his love, and she strove to see if
she yet had him in her toils. But Eustace did not flush, and the calm
expression of his face baffled the reading of his thoughts. A puzzled
look which meant, "I-wonder-why-you-called!" crept into her
expressive eyes, but beyond this she governed her feelings
excellently. But Eustace had interpreted the look, and to rearrange
their friendship hastened to explain.

"I have never seen you at the theatre," he said, easily, taking a chair,
"so it never struck me that Fairy Fan, who was delighting the British
public, was the same as Mrs. Anchor of San Francisco."

"Nor is she," replied the little woman, seating herself on the sofa.
"After the sad death of my husband, I took my maiden name again."

"Miss Berry?" inquired Eustace.

"Fanny Berry," she replied, nodding. "I am over here with my uncle."
She glanced uneasily at the door, thinking he might come in. "His
name is Banjo Berry. He is a merchant captain, but in 'Frisco you
knew him as Edward Sakers."

"Oh I thought--"

"I know you did," she interrupted petulantly, "and so did everyone
else. But he is my relative, and nothing more. Owing to some trouble
connected with the casting away of a fruit schooner on a South Sea
reef, he was obliged to call himself Sakers. As I told you, my
husband's behaviour became so impossible that I had to leave."

"You never told me that," said Jarman, serenely; "but at our last
interview you hinted that I might fight Anchor with revolvers."

"I don't deny it. The man treated me shamefully. I was a good wife
to him." Miss Berry--as it is best to call her--squeezed out a tear.
"But he--he--well, what's the use of going over the old ground. You
know how jealous he was."
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