cidentally made money. That's all I have to say about Africa. I hate the country, and I don't want to talk about it. See you later, I suppose."
He rose from his chair and stretched himself. Across the lawn the landlord came hurrying, his face perturbed and uneasy. His bow to Wrayson was subtly different. Here was perhaps an aristocrat under an assumed name, a person to be, without doubt, conciliated.
"Monsieur," he announced, with a little flourish of the white serviette which, from habit, he was carrying, "there is outside a young lady from the château who is inquiring for you."
"Which way?" Wrayson demanded anxiously.
"Monsieur will be pleased to follow me," the landlord answered.
Louise was alone in a victoria, drawn up before the front door of the inn. Wrayson saw at once that something had happened to disturb her. Even under her white veil he knew that she was pale, and that there were rings under her eyes. She leaned towards him and held out her hand in conventional manner for the benefit of the landlord, who lingered upon the steps.
"Come round to the other side of the carriage, Herbert," she said. "I have something to say to you. The coachman does not understand English. I have tried him."
Wrayson crossed behind the carriage and stood by her side.
"Herbert," she asked, anxiously, "will you do something for me, something I want you to do very much?"
"If I can," he answered simply.
"You can do this," she declared. "It is very easy.
