having seen that sweet--um--you understand,
Jenkins? Never seem to remember, even to me, that you ever saw any one
up here to-night."

"Certainly not, sir," indignantly. "I wouldn't, anyhow."

Yet his eyes, rolling back from the ceiling, seemed to hold me oddly for
an instant. In them was a touch of sadness.

"But may I speak of that Mr. Billings, sir? You know, if he comes--"

"Jenkins!" sharply.

"Certainly, sir!" Jenkins' mouth closed, traplike.

But all in vain my early rise the next morning, my careful toilet and my
dash in a taxi to a florist and then to Tiffany's for a ring. At the
pier I dodged about in the crowd, the boy trailing behind me with the
big purple box, but not a devilish thing could I see of Frances. By
Jove, I almost broke my monocle straining! At last I was sure she must
be left, for the last passengers were passing over the gang-plank.

"Hello, Dicky!"

The voice, coarse and hearty, came from an athletic young man in a
hurrah suit. On his head, perched jauntily above a mass of yellow hair,
was a straw hat with a crimson band.

I stared at him through my glass, but it was not any one I knew at all.
I looked at him coldly, for there's nothing so devilish annoying as
familiarities from strangers. I thought I could freeze him off.

But he only grinned. "Looking for Miss Billings?"

"I--I haven't seen her," I answered stiffly. But his question alarmed
me.

He chuckled in my face. "Guess you don't know her in her clothes, eh,
Dicky?" And I did not need the punch he gave me in the side to make me
stagger backward. "A thousand thanks, and good-by, old chap. I see
they're hauling in the plank."

He lingered for one bearlike grab at my hand.

"And say, don't forget--for I know Jack Billings better than you
do--don't ever let him know about all that Scotch last night."

He called over his shoulder with a grin: "Keep it dark--as dark as those
black pajamas, Dicky!"

And as long as I could see, he stood on the deck, waving his hat at me
as I stood there with my mouth open, my eyes following him with horror.

By Jove, who was he, and what did he know?

CHAPTER VIII

HER BROTHER JACK

"Good night, Dicky!" came up the elevator shaft. And then more "good
nights," growing fainter with their laughter as the car shot down.

"Good night," I called after them. "Devilish sorry you fellows won't
stay longer!"

"Jolly good lie, Jenkins," I said, yawning sleepily, as I dropped back
int