ling it the town--I
can hardly come up here, I was saying, without meeting some one or other
I had known elsewhere."

"Yes, it's an astonishing place, Mrs. Falkner," answered Laurence. "Only
bare veldt but a very few years ago, now a population of forty
thousand--mostly brokers."

She laughed, and Lilith cut in:

"I thought you were going to adopt the Carlylean definition of the
people of England, Mr. Stanninghame."

"Oh, that'll come in time. I only trust I may not hold on too long to
come under its lash."

"Let us hope none of us will," said Mrs. Falkner. "Oh, dear, we are all
dreadfully reckless, I fear. We are nothing but gamblers up here. Have
you caught the contagion too, Mr. Stanninghame?"

"I'm afraid so," he answered, thinking how, even among the softer sex
here, King Scrip bore the principal sway.

He was thinking of something else at the same time. Lilith was looking
even more sweet, more bewitchingly attractive than when last he had seen
her. There was a warm seductive glow of health in her dark brilliant
beauty, a winsomeness in her simple, tasteful attire--the cool
easy-fitting blouse and skirt in a soft harmony of cream colour and
light gray, and the plain, wide-brimmed straw hat of the "sailor"
kind--which made, to his eyes, an irresistibly entrancing picture.

She, no less than himself, was comparing notes--as two people will who
have been apart for a space, and have thought much of each other in the
interim. He, too, was improved in appearance. The fine climate, the
open-air life had lent a deeper bronze to his face and a clearness to
his eyes--even as an emancipation from sordid cares, together with a
present modicum of success and a prospect of further in the future, had
imparted a certain stamp of serenity to his expression which was not
there before. "Air, freedom, life's healthier side are good--success is
good--all good things are good--behold their result," was Lilith's inner
verdict as the summing up of this inspection.

Now George Falkner's efforts at cordiality were about as effective as
the demeanour of a crusty mastiff encountering another of his kind well
within sweep of his owner's lash. His jealous soul had noted the glance
exchanged between his cousin and Laurence Stanninghame--the responsive
glance which for a brief second would not be disguised; the great and
deep-reaching gladness, which shone in both pairs of eyes as a result of
this meeting. He stood gloomy and grim, whi