But meanwhile the cave drew me like a magnet.  I jealously desired to be the first to see it, to snatch from Mr. Tubbs the honors of discovery.  And I wanted to know about poor Peter—­and, the doubloons that he had gone back to fetch.

But already Captain Magnus had forsaken the post of duty and departed on an unknown errand.  Could I ask Cuthbert Vane to do it, too?  And then I smiled a smile that was half proud.  I might ask him—­but he would refuse me.  In Cuthbert’s simple code, certain things were “done,” certain others not.  Among the nots was to fail in standing by a friend.  And just now Cuthbert was standing by Dugald Shaw.  Therefore nods and becks and wreathed smiles were vain.  In Cuthbert’s quiet, easy-mannered, thick-headed way he could turn his back calmly on the face of love and follow the harsh call of duty even to death.  It would not occur to him not to.  And he never would suspect himself of being a hero—­that would be quite the nicest part of it.

And yet I knew poor Cuthbert was an exploded superstition, an anachronism, part of a vanishing order of things, and that the ideal which was replacing him was a boiler-plated monster with clock-work heart and brain, named Efficiency.  And that Cuthbert must go, along with his Jacobean manor and his family ghost, and the oaks in the park, and everything else that couldn’t prove its right to live except by being fine and lovely and full of garnered sweetness of the past—­

At this point in my meditations the door of the cabin opened and Miss Browne came out, looking sternly resolute.  Aunt Jane followed, very pink about the eyes and nose.  She threw an anxious fluttering glance at Mr. Tubbs, who sat up briskly, and in a nervous manner polished with a large bandana that barren zone, his cranium, which looked torrid enough to scorch the very feet of the flies that walked on it.  It was clear that on the lips of Miss Browne there hovered some important announcement, which might well be vital to the fortunes of Mr. Tubbs.

With a commanding gesture Miss Browne signaled the rest to approach.  Mr. Tubbs bounced up with alacrity.  Mr. Shaw and Cuthbert obeyed less promptly, but they obeyed.  Meanwhile Violet waited, looking implacable as fate.

“And where is Captain Magnus?” she demanded, glancing about her.

But no one knew what had become of Captain Magnus.

As for myself, I continued to sit in the shade and tat.  But I could hear with ease all that was said.

“Mr. Tubbs,” began Miss Browne, “your recent claims have been matter of prolonged consideration between Miss Harding and myself.  We feel—­we can not but feel—­that there was a harshness in your announcement of them, an apparent concentration on your own interests, ill befitting a member of this expedition.  Also, that in actual substance, they were excessive.  Not half, Mr. Tubbs; oh, no, not half!  But one-quarter, Miss Harding and