Bob, Ted, Demetrius and myself, were a merry quartette, despite the anxiety and the many maddening thoughts gnawing constantly at my heart. The dinner passed off pleasantly, Ted giving a humorous description of life among Australian squatters. Although he asserted that dramatic business took him to the Antipodes, he admitted that he had been compelled to go up-country in search of work, and that his employment at one period had been that of a shepherd in Gippsland. His description of the shifts which he had been put to in order to obtain a crust--he, a curled darling of Society, whilom actor at a West End theatre, and pet of the ladies--was very amusing, and caused us to roar with laughter. "And how have you been all this time, Burgoyne?" he asked of me, when he had finished his narrative. "Oh! Frank's a Benedict now," interposed Bob, laughing. "Married a fair Russian." "What!" exclaimed Ted in surprise. "Well, well, it's what all of us must come to, sooner or later. But Burgoyne's different from us poor beggars; he's rich, and can afford matrimony." "I don't see what money has to do with it," I said. "Many poor men are happy with good helpmates." "Oh! don't you," exclaimed Rivers. "My idea is that marriage without money is suicide under an euphonious name." "Opinions differ on that point," remarked Demetrius. "If I married a woman I loved, I think I should be happy with her, money or no money. But excuse me a moment, you fellows, I've left my cigar-case in my overcoat," and rising, he left the table. "Ah, cigars?" I said, suddenly remembering. "I've some somewhere," and feeling in my pocket for my case, pulled forth a number of letters and papers with it. I did so without a thought, but a second later I regretted, for from between the letters there fell a photograph, face upwards upon the table-cloth. It was the picture the dead man had given me on the previous night. I placed my hand upon it, but before I could do so, Bob had snatched it up, exclaiming,-- "Hulloa! carrying Vera's photo about like a love-sick swain, eh? By Jove?" he ejaculated when he had glanced at it. "Ah!--I've caught you, have I? Why, this isn't Vera, but some other woman! I'm surprised at you," and he feigned the utmost indignation. "Let's look!" demanded Rivers, taking it from Bob's hand, as I vainly endeavoured to regain possession of it. "Ah--Heavens?" exclaimed Ted with a repugnant gesture, when his eyes fell upon it. "What! you know her, then?" asked Bob. "No--er--no, my dear fellow," replied the other hurriedly, with a curious smile. "Never saw her in my life. The likeness is very like some one--some one I once knew," he added hastily, as he scrutinised it carefully, looking upon the back at the name of the photographer. "But I see I--I'm mistaken, it isn't she." And he returned the picture to me. "Who's the lady?" inquired Bob. "Pretty woman, without a doubt."