The smile on the beautiful face developed into a wicked little gleam of amusement.  “That’s so, I daresay,” said the high voice.  “But you see, I wasn’t consulted.  I’ve just got to go where I’m taken.”

She sank into a chair opposite Merefleet and leant forward.

Merefleet sat perfectly rigid.  There was a marvellous witchery about the clasped hands and bent head before him.  But he did not mean to let his idiotic sentimentality carry him away again.  So long as the enchantress was speaking, the spell was wholly impotent.  Therefore he should not suffer her to relapse into silence.  Yet—­how he hated that high, piercing voice!  It was like the desecration of something sacred.  It made him shrink in involuntary protest.

“Say!” suddenly exclaimed his companion, looking at him sharply.  “Aren’t you Bernard Merefleet of New York City?”

Merefleet frowned unconsciously at the notoriety that was his.

“I was in New York until recently,” he said with some curtness.

“Exactly what I said,” she returned triumphantly.  “A friend of mine snap-shotted you walking up Fifth Avenue.  He said to me:  ’Here’s Merefleet the gold-king, one of the cutest men in U.S.A.  His first name is Bernard.  So we call him the Big Bear for short.’  Ever heard your pet name before?”

“Never,” said Merefleet stiffly, with a suggestive hand on the evening paper.  He wished she would leave him alone.  With his eyes averted at length, the charm of her presence ceased to attract him.  He even fancied he resented her freedom.  But the girl only laughed carelessly.  She had not the smallest intention of moving.

“Well,” she said, and he imagined momentarily that her abominable accent was deliberately assumed.  “I guess you’ve heard it now, Mr. Bernard Merefleet.  Smart, I call it.  What’s your opinion?”

Merefleet started a little at the audacity of this speech.  And again he was looking at her.  There was a funny little smile twitching the corners of her mouth.  Her beauty was irresistible.  Even the iron barrier of his churlish avoidance was severely shaken.  She was hard to withstand, this witch with her friendly eyes and frank speech, despite her jarring voice.

She nodded to him sociably as she met his grave look.  “You aren’t on a pleasure-trip, I reckon,” she observed.

“Pleasure!” said Merefleet, giving way with abrupt bitterness.  “No.  There’s not much pleasure in unearthing skeletons.  That’s what I’m doing.”

The beautiful eyes opposite opened wide.  She was silent for a moment.  Then, “Think you’re wise?” she enquired casually.

“No,” said Merefleet roughly.  “I’m a fool.”

She nodded acquiescence.  “That’s so, I daresay,” she said.  “I was afraid you were sick.”

“So I am,” he said.  “Sick of life—­sick of everything.”

“I guess you want some medicine,” she said seriously.

Merefleet laughed suddenly.  “Something strong and deadly, eh?” he said.