Da Souza removed his hand from the back of his neighbour's chair and endeavoured to look unconscious. The girl tittered--Mrs. Da Souza was severely dignified. Trent watched them all, half in amusement, half in disgust. What a pandemonium! It was time indeed for him to get rid of them all. From where he sat he could see across the lawn into the little pine plantation. It was still light--if she could look in at the open window what would she think? His cheeks burned, and he thrust the hand which was seeking his under the table savagely away. And then an idea flashed in upon him--a magnificent, irresistible idea. He drank off a glass of champagne and laughed loud and long at one of his neighbour's silly sayings. It was a glorious joke! The more he thought of it, the more he liked it. He called for more champagne, and all, save the little brown girl, greeted the magnum which presently appeared with cheers. Even Mrs. Da Souza unbent a little towards the young women against whom she had declared war. Faces were flushed and voices grew a little thick. Da Souza's arm unchidden sought once more the back of his neighbour's chair, Miss Montressor's eyes did their utmost to win a tender glance from their lavish host. Suddenly Trent rose to his feet. He held a glass high over his head. His face was curiously unmoved, but his lips were parted in an enigmatic smile. “A toast, my friends!” he cried. “Fill up, the lot of you! Come! To our next meeting! May fortune soon smile again, and may I have another home before long as worthy a resting-place for you as this!” Bewilderment reigned. No one offered to drink the toast. It was Miss Montressor who asked the question which was on every one's lips. “What's up?” she exclaimed. “What's the matter with our next meeting here to-morrow night, and what's all that rot about your next home and fortune?” Trent looked at them all in well-simulated amazement. “Lord!” he exclaimed, “you don't know--none of you! I thought Da Souza would have told you the news!” “What news?” Da Souza cried, his beady eyes protuberant, and his glass arrested half-way to his mouth. “What are you talking about, my friend?” Trent set down his glass. “My friends,” he said unsteadily, “let me explain to you, as shortly as I can, what an uncertain position is that of a great financier.” Da Souza leaned across the table. His face was livid, and the corners of his eyes were bloodshot. “I thought there was something up,” he muttered. “You would not have me come into the City this morning. D--n it, you don't mean that you--” “I'm bust!” Trent said roughly. “Is that plain enough? I've been bulling on West Australians, and they boomed and this afternoon the Government decided not to back us at Bekwando, and the mines are to be shut down. Tell you all about it if you like.” No one wanted to hear all about it. They shrunk from him as though he were a robber. Only the little brown girl was sorry, and she looked at him with dark, soft eyes.