“Miss Van Rolsen will be relieved when she gets that,” observed Mr. Heatherbloom mechanically.  “It’ll be a happy moment for her,” meditatively.

“And won’t she be gladder still when she sees us?” answered the girl gaily.

The use of the plural slightly disconcerted Mr. Heatherbloom for the moment, but he dismissed it as an inadvertence.  “Where now?” he asked.

“Where do you think?” with dancing eyes.  “Shopping, of course.  Fortunately I drew plenty of money before starting for California.”

An hour or so later Mr. Heatherbloom sat with parcels in his arms and bundles galore around him.  He accepted the situation gracefully; indeed, displayed an almost tender solicitude for those especial packages she herself handed him.

“What next?” She had at length exhausted the somewhat limited resources of the thoroughfare.

“Drive to the best hotel,” was her command.  She laughed at the picture he made, or at something in her own thoughts.  She had unconsciously assumed toward him a manner in the least proprietary, but if he noticed he did not resent it.  They went faster; her voice was a low thread of music running through an accompaniment of crashing dissonances.  She wore a hat now—­the best she could find.  He considered it most “fetching”, but her thrilling derision overwhelmed his expression of opinion.  Though the way was so rough that they were occasionally thrown rather violently one against another, they arrived in high spirits at their destination, Mr. Heatherbloom having performed the commendable feat of preserving intact the parcels and bundles en route.  In the “best hotel” they were given two rooms overlooking a courtyard redolent with orchids.  The girl nodded a brief farewell to him from the threshold of her room.

“In about an hour, please, come back.”

He did, brushed up and with shoes shined, as presentable as possible.  She wore the same gown, but the sundry rents were mended and there had occurred other changes he could divine rather than define.  He brought her information—­not agreeable, he said.  He was very sorry, but the next boat for the United States would not call at the island for a fortnight.  He expected her to show dismay, but she received the news with commendable fortitude, if not resignation.

“I can cable aunt every day—­so there can be no cause for worry—­and she will only be the more pleased when we actually do arrive.”

Again the plural!  And once more that prophetic picture which included Mr. Heatherbloom within the pale of the venerable and austere Miss Van Rolsen’s jubilation.  He looked embarrassed but said nothing.  During the hour of his exclusion from Miss Dalrymple’s company he had sallied forth on a small but necessary financial errand of his own.  Francois had placed in the basket of biscuits a revolver, and this latter Mr. Heatherbloom, rightfully construing it as his own personal property in lieu of the weapon his excellency