ill break her heart and pine
away, if I leave her."

"Nonsense. But you don't go so far as that?"

"No, but I may do so for an experiment."

"I suppose you alluded to this power when you once said you had
conquered every nation under the sun?"

"Oh! only that I had willed girls of most nationalities."

"And who are the two you are looking after now?"

"One I have found; she is a Swiss. The other I am looking for; she is an
Australian."

"Australian, eh? I fancy I could fit you up there. I know a jolly girl
from Australia."

"You do? By Jove, Tommy, that's glorious! Who is she?"

"I don't know her very well. She lives in one of the suburbs with some
retired Australians, called Whyte. Her name is Amy Johnson."

"Is she good-looking?"

"She's more, she's sweetly pretty. But I believe she is engaged to a
young fellow named Morris, also an Australian."

"That makes it all the more interesting. But how are we to meet?" said
Wyck, really roused.

"I can arrange that, if you are game for a suburban ball-room. The
Brixton Bachelors give their annual ball shortly. She will be there and
I will get you an invite."

"Tommy, you're a brick," said his friend, slapping him on the back; a
proceeding which ensured the success of his neat manoeuvre, by which a
note or two was transferred from Wyck's pocket-book to that of his
friend, who was "rather hard-pressed, you know," and Wyck was "a
devilish good chap for helping a fellow out of a hole."

In Piccadilly they parted, Tommy's last words being:

"'Ware young Australian, old chap. These colonial fellows are not to be
trifled with."

"My dear boy, I've heard that before. They told me the same with regard
to Americans, but three of my notches represent Yankee maidens. I'm all
right. Don't forget the ticket for the ball. I must complete my score of
fifty."

He waved him an adieu, and went his way, very well pleased with himself
and full of self-confidence. The old pitcher in the fable succumbed at
the hundredth journey, and Wyck's successful career will be cut short by
the fiftieth notch.

CHAPTER III.

THE MIA-MIA.[A]

"How dare you do it, sir? You are too presumptuous."

"I am awfully sorry, Amy, but really I could not help myself."

"But you did help yourself, Reg," and the young girl turned upon her
companion such a bewitchingly pretty face, her lips pouting with
badly-simulated anger, that the young man had no compunction in taking
her in his ar