t even
bear a practical test, and she could only trust to chance and her
mother-wit to prevent any calamity; but she was unusually silent as
they walked down the winding path back to the hotel where they were
all staying.

There was a midday _table d'hote_, where the proprietor, a most
imposing and almost pontifical personage, officiated as at a religious
ceremonial, solemnly ladling out the soup to devout waiters as if he
were blessing each portion, after which he stood by and contented
himself with lending his countenance (at a rather high rate of
interest) to the meal. Caffyn's chair was placed next to Gilda's, and
they kept up a continuous flow of conversation. Mark saw them both
looking at him at one time, and wondered at the sudden change in
Caffyn's face, which (unless his fancy misled him) had a frown on it
that was almost threatening. But he was not allowed much time to
speculate on the causes, for Mrs. Featherstone (perhaps to emphasise
her disapproval of his companion) distinguished Mark by engrossing his
entire attention.

That afternoon Mark was sitting outside the hotel, taking his coffee
at one of the little round iron tables, by the inevitable trio of
scrubby orange trees in green tubs, when Caffyn, whom he had not seen
since leaving the table, came up and sat down beside him without a
word.

'Have you come out for some coffee?' asked Mark.

'No,' said Caffyn shortly, 'I came out to have a few words with you.'

The Featherstones had all gone off to attend the English afternoon
service; there was no one very near them, though in the one broad
street there was a certain gentle animation, of townspeople
promenading up and down in Sunday array, spectacled young officers,
with slender waists and neat uniforms, swaggering about; a portly and
gorgeous crier in a green uniform, ringing his bell over a departed
purse; little old walnut-faced women, sitting patiently by their
fruitstalls, and a band of local firemen in very baggy tunics, the
smallest men of whom had crept inside the biggest silver helmets,
preparing to execute a selection of airs.

'You look uncommonly serious about something, old fellow,' said Mark,
laughing lightly; 'what is it?'

'This,' said Caffyn, with a smouldering fire in his voice and eyes;
'I've just been told that you--_you_ are engaged to Mabel Langton. Is
it true?'

Mark was not displeased. This coupling of Mabel's name with his, even
though by a mere rumour, sent a delici