han
an ordinary amount of interest in the novelty of the procedure.

He took his leave soon afterwards.

"I would like to come with you to your interesting meeting," he said,
"but unfortunately I have business elsewhere. Let me enjoin you to take
your revolver and at the first sign of any bloodthirsty intention on the
part of my admirable compatriot, produce it and click it once or twice,
you won't have to do more."

Grace rose from the piano as Kara entered the little drawing-room and
murmured a few conventional expressions of regret that the visitor's
stay had been so short. That there was no sincerity in that regret Kara,
for one, had no doubt. He was a man singularly free from illusions.

They stayed talking a little while.

"I will see if your chauffeur is asleep," said John, and went out of the
room.

There was a little silence after he had gone.

"I don't think you are very glad to see me," said Kara. His frankness
was a little embarrassing to the girl and she flushed slightly.

"I am always glad to see you, Mr. Kara, or any other of my husband's
friends," she said steadily.

He inclined his head.

"To be a friend of your husband is something," he said, and then as if
remembering something, "I wanted to take a book away with me--I wonder
if your husband would mind my getting it?"

"I will find it for you."

"Don't let me bother you," he protested, "I know my way."

Without waiting for her permission he left the girl with the unpleasant
feeling that he was taking rather much for granted. He was gone less
than a minute and returned with a book under his arm.

"I have not asked Lexman's permission to take it," he said, "but I am
rather interested in the author. Oh, here you are," he turned to John
who came in at that moment. "Might I take this book on Mexico?" he
asked. "I will return it in the morning."

They stood at the door, watching the tail light of the motor disappear
down the drive; and returned in silence to the drawing room.

"You look worried, dear," she said, laying her hand on his shoulder.

He smiled faintly.

"Is it the money?" she asked anxiously.

For a moment he was tempted to tell her of the letter. He stifled the
temptation realizing that she would not consent to his going out if she
knew the truth.

"It is nothing very much," he said. "I have to go down to Beston Tracey
to meet the last train. I am expecting some proofs down."

He hated lying to her, and even an innocu