atching the little figure tearing up the North Bridge. "Great
little soul!" he muttered. "Now for old Sheratt!"

He put his head down and began to bore through the crowd toward Mr.
Sheratt's house. When he had gone but a little distance he was brought
up short by a bang full in the stomach. "Why, what the deuce!"

"Dod gast ye! Whaur are ye're een?" It was Davie, breathless and furious
from the impact. "Wad ye walk ower me, dang ye?" cried the little man
again. Davie was Free Kirk, and therefore limited in the range of his
vocabulary.

"Oh! That you, Davie? I'm sorry I didn't see you."

"A'm no' as big as a hoose, but a'm veesible." And Davie walked
wrathfully about his business.

"Oh, quite," acknowledged Dunn cheerfully, hurrying on; "and tangible,
as well."

"He's comin'," cried Davie over his shoulder; "but gar it had been
masel'," he added grudgingly, "catch me!"

But Dunn was too far on his way to make reply. Already his mind was on
the meeting of the lawyers in Mr. Rae's office, and wondering what would
come of it. On this subject he meditated until he reached Mr. Sheratt's
home. Twice he rang the bell, still meditating.

"By Jove, she is stunning! She's a wonder!" he exclaimed to himself as
he stood in Mr. Sheratt's drawing-room. "She's got 'em all skinned a
mile, as Martin would say." It is safe to affirm that Mr. Dunn was not
referring to the middle-aged and highly respectable maid who had
opened the door to him. It is equally safe to affirm that this was the
unanimous verdict of the three men who, half an hour later, brought
their deliberations to a conclusion, frankly acknowledging to each
other that what they had one and all failed to achieve, the lady had
accomplished.

CHAPTER VI

THE WASTER'S REFUGE

"I say, you blessed Colonial, what's come over you?" Linklater was
obviously disturbed. He had just returned from a summer's yachting
through the Norway fjords, brown and bursting with life. The last
half-hour he had been pouring forth his experiences to his friend
Martin. These experiences were some of them exciting, some of them
of doubtful ethical quality, but all of them to Linklater at least
interesting. During the recital it was gradually borne in upon him that
his friend Martin was changed. Linklater, as the consciousness of the
change in his friend grew upon him, was prepared to resent it. "What the
deuce is the matter with you?" he enquired. "Are you ill?"

"Never better. I cou