"I have had reason to be," Hamel rejoined. "During nearly the whole
of the time I have been abroad, I have been practically pioneering.
Building railways in the far West, with gangs of Chinese and Italians
and Hungarians and scarcely a foreman who isn't terrified of his job,
isn't exactly drawing-room work."

"You are going back there?" Mr. Fentolin asked, with interest.

Hamel shook his head.

"I have no plans," he declared. "I have been fortunate enough, or
shall I some day say unfortunate enough, I wonder, to have inherited
a large legacy."

Mr. Fentolin smiled.

"Don't ever doubt your good fortune," he said earnestly. "The
longer I live--and in my limited way I do see a good deal of life
--the more I appreciate the fact that there isn't anything in this
world that compares with the power of money. I distrust a poor man.
He may mean to be honest, but he is at all times subject to
temptation. Ah! here is my niece."

Mr. Fentolin turned towards the door. Hamel rose at once to his
feet. His surmise, then, had been correct. She was coming towards
them very quietly. In her soft grey dinner-gown, her brown hair
smoothly brushed back, a pearl necklace around her long, delicate
neck, she seemed to him a very exquisite embodiment of those
memories which he had been carrying about throughout the afternoon.