deliberately she drew the edge of her little
knife across the back of his hand, and he leapt away with a howl of
pain.

"You--you beast," he stammered, and she looked at him with her sly
smile.

"There must have been cave women, too, Marcus," she said coolly, as she
rose. "They had their methods--give me your handkerchief, I want to
wipe this knife."

His face was grey now. He was looking at her like a man bereft of his
senses.

He did not move when she took his handkerchief from his pocket, wiped
the knife, closed and slipped it into her bag, before she replaced the
handkerchief tidily. And all the time he stood there with his hand
streaming with blood, incapable of movement. It was not until she had
disappeared round the corner of the house that he pulled out the
handkerchief and wrapped it about his hand.

"A devil," he whimpered, almost in tears, "a devil!"

Chapter XXVI

Jean Briggerland discovered a new arrival on her return to the house.

Jack Glover had come unexpectedly from London, so Lydia told her, and
Jack himself met her with extraordinary geniality.

"You lucky people to be in this paradise!" he said. "It is raining like
the dickens in London, and miserable beyond description. And you're
looking brown and beautiful, Miss Briggerland."

"The spirit of the warm south has got into your blood, Mr. Glover," she
said sarcastically. "A course at the Riviera would make you almost
human."

"And what would make you human?" asked Jack blandly.

"I hope you people aren't going to quarrel as soon as you meet," said
Lydia.

Jean was struck by the change in the girl. There was a colour in her
cheeks, and a new and a more joyous note in her voice, which was
unmistakable to so keen a student as Jean Briggerland.

"I never quarrel with Jack," she said. She assumed a proprietorial air
toward Jack Glover, which unaccountably annoyed Lydia. "He invents the
quarrels and carries them out himself. How long are you staying?"

"Two days," said Jack, "then I'm due back in town."

"Have you brought your Mr. Jaggs with you?" asked Jean innocently.

"Isn't he here?" asked Jack in surprise. "I sent him along a week ago."

"Here?" repeated Jean slowly. "Oh, he's here, is he? Of course." She
nodded. Certain things were clear to her now; the unknown drencher of
beds, the stranger who had appeared from nowhere and had left her father
senseless, were no longer mysteries.

"Oh, Jean," it was Lydia who spoke.