"Has it? Well,--perhaps it has!" He paused--then stooping his tall
head kissed her once on the lips as a brother might have kissed her.
"And perhaps--one day--when the right man comes along, you will have
it too!"




CHAPTER XI


Mr. Sam Gwent stood in what was known as the "floral hall" of the
Plaza Hotel, so called because it was built in colonnades which
opened into various vistas of flowers and clambering vines growing
with all the luxuriance common to California. He had just arrived,
and while divesting himself of a light dust overcoat interrogated
the official at the enquiry office.

"So he doesn't live here after all,"--he said--"Then where's he to
be found?"

"Mr. Seaton has taken the hill hut"--replied the book-keeper--"'The
hut of the dying' it is sometimes called. He prefers it to the
hotel. The air is better for his lungs."

"Air? Lungs?"--Gwent sniffed contemptuously. "There's very little
the matter with his lungs if he's the man _I_ know! Where's this hut
of the dying? Can I get there straight?"