ou?" she smiled, as she sat down at the table and
selected a peach from its cotton-wool bed. "I only arrived a second ago,
in fact I was opening the door when you almost knocked my head off. What
a violent man you are, Jack! I shall have to put you into my story."

Glover had recovered his self-possession by now.

"So you are adding to your other crimes by turning novelist, are you?"
he said good-humouredly. "What is the book, Miss Briggerland?"

"It is going to be called 'Suspected,'" she said coolly. "And it will be
the Story of a Hurt Soul."

"Oh, I see, a humorous story," said Jack, wilfully dense. "I didn't know
you were going to write a biography."

"But do tell me about this, it is very thrilling, Jean," said Lydia,
"and it is the first I've heard of it."

Jean was skinning the peach and was smiling as at an amusing thought.

"I've been two years making up my mind to write it," she said, "and I'm
going to dedicate it to Jack. I started work on it three or four days
ago. Look at my wrist!" She held out her beautiful hand for the girl's
inspection.

"It is a very pretty wrist," laughed Lydia, "but why did you want me to
see it?"

"If you had a professional eye," said the girl, resuming her occupation,
"you would have noticed the swelling, the result of writers' cramp."

"The yarn about your elderly admirer ought to provide a good chapter,"
said Jack, "and isn't there a phrase 'A Chapter of Accidents'--_that_
ought to go in?"

She did not raise her eyes.

"Don't discourage me," she said a little sadly. "I have to make money
somehow."

How much had she heard? Jack was wondering all the time, and he groaned
inwardly when he saw how little effect his warning had upon the girl he
was striving to protect. Women are natural actresses, but Lydia was not
acting now. She was genuinely fond of Jean and he could see that she had
accepted his warnings as the ravings of a diseased imagination. He
confirmed this view when after a morning of sight-seeing and the
exploration of the spot where, two thousand years before, the Emperor
Augustine had erected his lofty "trophy," they returned to the villa.
There are some omissions which are marked, and when Lydia allowed him to
depart without pressing him to stay to dinner he realised that he had
lost the trick.

"When are you going back to London?" she asked.

"To-morrow morning," said Jack. "I don't think I shall come here again
before I go."

She did not reply imm