tand," Berrington said quietly. "You are a hostage to
fortune. Honour thy father that _his_ days may be long in the land where
good dinners abound and tradesmen are confiding. But the shame, the
burning shame of it! Here's that confounded waiter again."

Beatrice felt inclined to laugh hysterically at Berrington's sudden
change of tone. The dark-eyed Swiss waiter was bending over the girl's
chair again with a supplicating suggestion that she should try a little
wine of some sort. He had a clean list in his hand, and even
Berrington's severest military frown did not suffice to scare him away.

"Ver' excellent wine," he murmured. "A little claret, a liqueur. No. 74
is what--will madame kindly look? Madame will look for one little
moment?"

With an insistence worthy of a better cause, the Swiss placed the card
in Beatrice's hand.

It was a clean card, printed in red and gold, and opposite No. 74 was a
pencilled note. The girl's eyes gleamed as she saw the writing. The
words were few but significant. "In the little conservatory beyond the
drawing-room. Soon as possible."

"I shall have to complain about that fellow," Berrington said. "Miss
Beatrice, are you not well?"

"I am quite well, quite strong and well," Beatrice whispered. "I implore
you not to attract any attention to me. And the waiter was not to blame.
He had a message to deliver to me. You can see how cleverly he has done
it. Look here!"

Beatrice displayed the card with the pencilled words upon it.
Berrington's quick intelligence took everything in at a glance.

"Of course that is intended for you," he said. "A neat handwriting. And
yet in some way it seems quite familiar to me. Could I possibly have
seen it anywhere before?"

"I should say that it is extremely likely," the girl said. "It is Mark
Ventmore's own handwriting."

Berrington smiled. He had all a soldier's love of adventure, and he
began to see a very pretty one here.

"I wrote to him a little over a week ago," Beatrice said rapidly. "If he
had got my letter then and come, goodness knows what would have
happened. I was not quite aware at that hour how close was the shadow of
disgrace. I expect Mark has found out everything. Probably he has only
just arrived and feels that if he does not see me to-night it will be
too late. Colonel Berrington, I must see Mark at once, oh, I _must_."

Nothing could be easier. Beatrice had merely to say that she was
suffering with a dreadful headache, that