and still in the utter peace and tranquillity conferred by death. Her last
words had been of Tony.

"I've 'bequeathed' him to you, Ann," she had whispered. Adding, with a
faint, humorous little smile: "I'm afraid I'm leaving you rather a
troublesome legacy."

And now, nearly four years later, Ann had thoroughly realised that the
task of keeping Tony out of mischief was by no means an easy one. Here,
at Montricheux, however, she had felt that she could relax her vigilance
somewhat. There was no temptation to back "a certainty" of which some
racing friend had apprised him, and, as Tony himself discontentedly
declared, the stakes permitted at the Kursaal tables were so small that
if he gambled every night of the week he ran no risk of either making or
losing a fortune.

The chief danger, she reflected, was that he might become bored and
irritable--she could see that he was tending that way--and then trouble
would be sure to arise between him and his uncle, with whom he was staying
at the Hotel Gloria. She recalled his hesitation when she had asked him if
he had been getting into mischief. Was trouble brewing already?

"Tony," she demanded shrewdly. "Have you been quarrelling with Sir Philip
again? There's generally some disturbing cause when you feel driven into
asking me to marry you."

"Well, why won't you? He'd be satisfied then."

"He? Do you mean your uncle?"--with some astonishment.