woman she was unusually tall. She was also unusually handsome. She
had a magnificent figure, a commanding presence, good features, hair,
and eyes; yet the impression that she produced was anything but
pleasant. The flashing dark eyes were too bold and too defiant; the
carmine on her cheeks was artificially laid on, and her face had been
dabbed with a powder puff in very reckless fashion. Her black hair was
frizzed and tortured in the latest mode, and her dress made in so novel
a style that it looked _outre_, even at a fashionable watering-place.
Dress, bonnet and parasol were scarlet of hue; and the vivid tint was
softened but slightly by the black lace which fell in cascades from her
closely-swathed neck to the hem of her dress, fastened here and there by
diamond pins. If it were possible that, as Lisette had said, Mr. and
Mrs. Alan Walcott were poor, their poverty was not apparent in Mrs.
Walcott's dress. Black and scarlet were certainly becoming to her, but
the effect in broad daylight was too startling for good taste. To a
critical observer, moreover, there was something unpleasantly suggestive
in her movements: the way in which she walked and held her parasol, and
turned her head from side to side, spoke of a desire to attract
attention, and a delight in admiration even of the coarsest and least
complimentary kind.

There was certainly something in the bearing of husband and wife that
attracted notice. Her vivacity and her boldness, a certain weariness and
reluctance in his air, as if he were paraded up and down these garden
walks against his will, led others beside inquisitive French waiters to
watch the movements of the pair. And they were in full view of several
gazers when an unexpected and dramatic incident occurred.

A man who had sauntered out of the hotel into the gardens directed his
steps towards them, and met them face to face as they issued from one of
the side-paths. He was not tall, but he was dapper and agile: his
moustache curled fiercely, and his eyeglass was worn with something of
an aggressive air. He was perfectly dressed, except that--for English
taste--he wore too much jewellery; and from the crown of his shining hat
to the tip of his polished pointed boot he was essentially Parisian--a
dandy of the Boulevards, or rather, perhaps, of the Palais Royal--an
exquisite who prided himself upon the fit of his trousers and the swing
of his Malacca cane.

He paused as he met the Walcotts, and raised