r was still early.

"Where's your very agreeable house-party?" he inquired, looking about
the empty room and hall with an air of troubled surprise.

"Gone to bed," replied Portlaw irritably,--"what's left of 'em." And he
continued reading "The Pink 'Un."

"Really!" said Malcourt in polite concern.

"Yes, really!" snapped Portlaw. "Mrs. Ascott went to Pride's and took
Wayward and Constance Palliser; that was Friday. And Gray and Cecile
joined them yesterday. It's been a horrible house-party; nobody had any
use for anybody else and it has rained every day and--and--to be plain
with you, Louis, nobody is enchanted with your relatives and that's the
unpleasant truth!"

"I don't blame anybody," returned Malcourt sincerely, removing his
driving-gloves and shaking off his wet box-coat. "Why, I can scarcely
stand them myself, William. Where are they?"

"In the west wing of your house--preparing to remain indefinitely."

"Dear, dear!" exclaimed Malcourt. "What on earth shall we do?" And he
peered sideways at Portlaw with his tongue in his cheek.

"Do? _I_ don't know. Why the devil did you suggest that they stop at
your house?"

"Because, William, curious as it may seem, I had a sort of weak-minded
curiosity to see my sister once more." He walked over to the table, took
a cigarette and lighted it, then stood regarding the burning match in
his fingers. "She's the last of the family; I'll probably never see her
again--"

"She appears to be in excellent health," remarked Portlaw viciously.

"So am I; but--" He shrugged and tossed the embers of the match onto the
hearth.

"But what?"

"Well, I'm going to take a vacation pretty soon--a sort of voyage, and a
devilish long one, William. That's why I wanted to see her again."

"You mean to tell me you are going away?" demanded the other
indignantly.

Malcourt laughed. "Oh, yes. I planned it long ago--one morning toward
daybreak years ago.... A--a relative of mine started on the same voyage
rather unexpectedly.... I've heard very often from him since; I'm
curious to try it, too--when he makes up his mind to invite me--"

"When are you starting?" interrupted Portlaw, disgusted.

"Oh, not for a while, I think. I won't embarrass you; I'll leave
everything in ship-shape--"

"_Where_ are you going?--dammit!"

Malcourt looked at him humorously, head on one side. "I am not perfectly
sure, dear friend. I hate to know all about a thing before I do it.
Otherwise there's no