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The smoker twinkled. "You're different from Ned Ferry," he said.

"Suppose it wasn't either."

"And yet," he began to add,--

"Nonsense!" muttered both men, and I liked them the better.

"You're tired!" murmured the voice beside me, and the wave rolled in again. I lifted my brow and moved one hand from hers to make room on it for my lips, but her fingers slipped away and alighted compassionately on my neck. "You must be one ache from head to foot!" she whispered.

The reply came slowly. "No; her husband is quite another man; this man's wife has been dead for years. No, Charlotte Oliver lives in--hark!"

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