then; but we hadn't heard that you were married."
"Oh, I guessed as much: it happened very quietly, and I was remiss about announcing it, even to old friends."
Lansing frowned. His thoughts had wandered away to the evening when he had found Mrs. Hicks's letter in the mail awaiting him at Venice. The day was associated in his mind with the ridiculous and mortifying episode of the cigars—the expensive cigars that Susy had wanted to carry away from Strefford's villa. Their brief exchange of views on the subject had left the first blur on the perfect surface of his happiness, and he still felt an uncomfortable heat at the remembrance. For a few hours the prospect of life with Susy had seemed unendurable; and it was just at that moment that he had found the letter from Mrs. Hicks, with its almost irresistible invitation. If only her daughter had known how nearly he had accepted it!
"It was a dreadful temptation," he said, smiling.
"To go with us? Then why—?"
"Oh, everything's different now: I've got to stick to my writing."
Miss Hicks still bent on him the same unblinking scrutiny. "Does that mean that you're going to give up your real work?"
"My real work—archæology?" He smiled again to hide a twitch of regret. "Why, I'm
