ght always to ascertain the
whereabouts of millionaires interested in motoring," he answered
promptly. "And now, pardon me for advising you not to walk towards the
pier alone."

"Gracious me! Why not?"

"There is a certain class of boisterous holiday-maker who might annoy
you--not by downright ill-behavior, but by exercising a crude humor
which is deemed peculiarly suitable to the seaside, though it would be
none the less distressing to you."

"In the States that sort of man gets shot," she said, and her cheeks
glowed with a rush of color.

"Here, on the contrary, he often takes the young lady's arm and walks
off with her," persisted Medenham.

"I'm going to that pier," she announced. "Guess you'd better escort
me, Mr. Fitzroy."

"Fate closes every door in my face," he said sadly. "I cannot go with
you--in that direction."

"Well, of all the odd people!--why not that way, if any other?"

"Because Count Edouard Marigny, the gentleman whose name I could not
help overhearing to-day, has just gone there--with another man."

"Have you a grudge against him, too?"

"I never set eyes on him before six o'clock this evening, but I
imagine you would not care to have him see you walking with your
chauffeur."

Cynthia looked up and down the broad sea front, with its thousands of
lamps and droves of promenaders.

"At last I am beginning to size up this dear little island," she said.
"I may go with you to a racetrack, I may sit by your side for days in
an automobile, I may even eat your luncheon and drink your aunt's St.
Galmier, but I may not ask you to accompany me a hundred yards from my
hotel to a pier. Very well, I'll quit. But before I go, do tell me one
thing. Did you really mean to bring your aunt to Epsom to-day?"

"Yes."

"A mother's sister sort of aunt--a nice old lady with white hair?"

"One would almost fancy you had met her, Miss Vanrenen."

"Perhaps I may, some day. Father and I are going to Scotland for a
month from the twelfth of August. After that we shall be in the Savoy
Hotel about six weeks. Bring her to see me."

Medenham almost jumped when he heard of the projected visit to the
Highlands, but some demon of mischief urged him to say:

"Let's reckon up. July, August, September--three months----"

He stopped with a jerk. Cynthia, already aware of some vague power she
possessed of stirring this man's emotions, did not fail to detect his
air of restraint.

"It isn't a proposition that calls