introduced them. The first had a peculiar name; at least, so it seemed
to me.

"Mr. Herod Voltaire--Mr. Justin Blake," she said; and instantly we were
looking into each other's eyes, I feeling a strange kind of shiver pass
through me.

The name of the smaller man was simply that of an Egyptian, "Aba Wady
Kaffar." The guests called him Mr. Kaffar, and thus made it as much
English as possible.

Scarcely had the formalities of introduction been gone through between
the Egyptian and myself, when my eyes were drawn to the door, which was
again opening. Do what I would I could not repress a start, for, to my
surprise, I saw my travelling companions enter with Miss
Temple--Gertrude Forrest looking more charming and more beautiful than
ever, and beside her Miss Staggles, tall, gaunt, and more forbidding
than when in the railway carriage.

It is no use denying the fact, for my secret must sooner or later drop
out. My heart began to throb wildly, while my brain seemed on fire. I
began to picture myself in conversation with her, and becoming
acquainted with her, when I accidentally looked at Herod Voltaire. His
eyes were fixed on Miss Forrest, as if held by a magnet, and I fancied I
saw a faint colour tinge his cheek.

What I am now going to write may appear foolish and unreal, especially
when you remember that I was thirty years of age, but the moment I saw
his ardent, admiring gaze, I felt madly jealous.