PART I

CHAPTER I

BETTER THAN LONDON

A long, green wave ran up, gleaming like curved glass in the sunlight, and broke in a million sparkles against a shelf of shingle.  Above the shingle rose the soft cliffs, clothed with scrubby grass and crowned with gorse.

“Columbus,” said the stranger, “this is just the place for us.”

Columbus wagged a cheery tail and expressed complete agreement.  He was watching a small crab hurrying among the stones with a funny frown between his brows.  He was not quite sure of the nature or capabilities of these creatures, and till he knew more he deemed it advisable to let them pass without interference.  A canny Scot was Columbus, and it was very seldom indeed that anyone ever got the better of him.  He was also a gentleman to the backbone, and no word his mistress uttered, however casual, ever passed unacknowledged by him.  He always laughed when she laughed, however obscure the joke.

He smiled now, since she was obviously pleased, but without taking his sharp little eyes off the object of his interest.  Suddenly the scuttling crab disappeared and he started up with a whine.  In a moment he was scratching in the shingle in eager search, flinging showers of stones over his companion in the process.

She protested, seizing him by his wiry tail to make him desist.  “Columbus!  Don’t!  You’re burying me alive!  Do sit down and be sensible, or I’ll never be wrecked on a desert island with you again!”

Columbus subsided, not very willingly, dropping with a grunt into the hole he had made.  His mistress released him, and took out a gold cigarette case.

“I wonder what I shall do when I’ve finished these,” she mused.  “The simple life doesn’t include luxuries of this sort.  Only three left, Columbus!  After that, your missis’ll starve.”

She lighted a cigarette with a faint pucker on her wide brow.  Her eyes looked out over the empty, tumbling sea—­grey eyes very level in their regard under black brows that were absolutely straight and inclined to be rather heavily accentuated.

“Yes, I wish I’d asked Muff for a few before I came away,” was the outcome of her reflections.  “By this time tomorrow I shan’t have one left.  Just think of that, my Christopher, and be thankful that you’re just a dog to whom one rat tastes very like another!”

Columbus sneezed protestingly.  Whatever his taste in rats, Cigarette smoke did not appeal to him.  His mistress’s fondness for it was her only failing in his eyes.

She went on reflectively, her eyes upon the sky-line.  “I shall have to take in washing to eke out a modest living in cigarettes and chocolates.  I can’t subsist on Mr. Rickett’s Woodbines, that’s quite certain.  I wonder if there’s a pawnshop anywhere near.”

Her voice was low and peculiarly soft; she uttered her words with something of a drawl.  Her hands were clasped about her knees, delicate hands that yet looked capable.  The lips that held the cigarette were delicately moulded also, but they had considerable character.