ay seem fascinating to you at first, but believe me you will be better
off and happier in the backwoods. Ask Stella. I think that she would
give you the same advice."

Virginia looked at him steadily. The faint note of sarcasm which was
seldom absent from his tone was not lost upon her.

"I thank you for your advice," she said, "It sounds so
disinterested--and convincing. Such an excellent return, too, for a
person who has risked something to do you a kindness."

"My dear young lady," Vine answered, "it was not for my own sake that
you warned me. You have admitted that yourself. It was entirely from
your own point of view that you judged it well for me to remain a little
longer on the earth. Why, therefore, should I be grateful? As a matter
of fact, I am not sure that I am. I, too, go about armed, and it is by
no means certain that I might not have had the best of any little
encounter with our friend who you say was hiding there."--He motioned
his head towards his bedroom.--"In that case, you see, I should have
known exactly who he was, possibly even have been able to hand him over
to the police."

Virginia pressed the little bell and the lift began to ascend.

"I am glad to know, Mr. Vine," she said, "what sort of a man you are."

He bowed, and she stepped into the lift without any further form of
farewell. Vine walked thoughtfully back to his rooms. He was a man who
had grown hard and callous in the stress of life, but somehow the memory
of Virginia's pale face and dark reproachful eyes remained with him.

CHAPTER X

A NEW VENTURE

Phineas Duge, notwithstanding an absence of anything approaching
vulgarity in his somewhat complex disposition, was, for a man of affairs
and an American, singularly fond of the small elegances of life.
Although he sat alone at dinner, the table was heaped with choice
flowers and carefully selected hothouse fruit. His one glass of wine,
the best of its sort, he sipped meditatively, and with the air of a
connoisseur. The soft lights upon the table were such as a woman,
mindful of her complexion, might have chosen. Behind his chair stood
his English butler, grave, solemn-faced, attentive. The cigars and
matches were already on his left-hand side, ready for the moment when he
should have finished his wine. Outside a footman was waiting for a
signal to bring in the after-dinner coffee.

Across his luxurious table, through the waving clusters of
sweet-smelling flowers to the da