wondered of what it reminded him.

Then in a flash it all came back, the scene of years and years ago--the
verandah in far-away Natal, with himself sitting on it, an open letter
in his hand and staring with all his eyes at the camellia bush covered
with bloom before him. It seemed a bad omen to him--that camellia in
Madeline's bosom. Next second she was speaking.

"Oh, Sir Eustace, I owe you a thousand apologies. You must have been
here for quite ten minutes, for I heard the front door bang when you
came. But my poor little girl Effie is ill with a sore throat which has
made her feverish, and she absolutely refused to go to sleep unless she
had my hand to hold."

"Lucky Effie," said Sir Eustace, with his politest bow; "I am sure I can
understand her fancy."

At the moment he was holding Madeline's hand himself, and gave emphasis
to his words by communicating the gentlest possible pressure to it as
he let it fall. But knowing his habits, she did not take much notice.
Comparative strangers when Sir Eustace shook hands with them were
sometimes in doubt whether he was about to propose to them or to make a
remark upon the weather. Alas! it had always been the weather.

"I come as a man of business besides, and men of business are accustomed
to being kept waiting," he went on.

"You are really very good, Sir Eustace, to take so much trouble about my
affairs."