at him with grateful, troubled eyes.

"Let's hope that your luck is changing," he said gravely, gazing at her
with eyes no less troubled.

Then Melchisidec scratched at the door and mewed. Olivia let him in.
Purring in the friendliest way, he rubbed his head against Grey's leg. He
never treated Lord Loudwater with such friendliness.

William Roper chose a tree about forty yards from the pavilion and set
his gun against the trunk. Then he filled and lit his pipe, leaned back
comfortably against the trunk, hidden by the fringe of undergrowth, and,
with his eyes on the door of the pavilion, waited. For Grey and Olivia,
never dreaming of this patient watcher, the minutes flew; they had so
many things to tell one another, so many questions to ask. At least Grey
had; Olivia, for the most part, listened without comment, unless the
flush which waxed and waned should be considered comment, to the things
he told her about herself and the many ways in which she affected him.
For William Roper the minutes dragged; he was eager to start briskly up
the royal road to Fortune. He was a slow smoker and he smoked a strong,
slow-burning twist; but he had nearly emptied the screw of paper which
held it before they came out of the door of the pavilion.

It was a still evening, but some drift of air had carried the rank smoke
from William Roper's pipe into the glade, and it hung there. Colonel Grey
had not taken five steps before his nostrils were assailed by it.

"Damn!" he said softly.

"What's the matter?" said Olivia.