“No; I--waited!” answered Andria, with a ghastly smile, knowing she had waited for what would never be. “Beryl, come here, look! There go Mr. Egerton and--his friend--down to the shore. What for, do you suppose?” “Didn’t you know? They’re not going to stay here. They’re going to dine and sleep on board the yacht and come back in the morning. And Mr. Erle isn’t his friend--he’s his nephew. That’s why I came; I thought we might go”--flushing--“and speak to Mr. Heriot. Didn’t you get anything out of Mr. Egerton about our going away? And did he say anything about that dreadful man, and the jaguars?” “Yes,” said Andria, as if she talked in her sleep. “I’ll tell you by and by.” She leaned from the window looking after the man whose shoulders and walk she would know among a thousand. He knew nothing of her being here. Beryl’s slip of “Heathcote” had been to him only a disagreeable coincidence, reminding him of things he wished to forget. Then, what had brought him? “Beryl!” It was as if another person had spoken aloud in her ear. “Egerton means to marry him to Beryl!” She could think of no reason why, and yet she was sure. And why not? For all she knew, Beryl Corselas might be any one’s daughter, and whatever her secret history was, Egerton must know it. “He’ll never do it, never! Whether I’m Raimond’s wife or not, I’ll stop it,” she thought, wild passion at her heart. “I’ll tell anything, everything. Mr. Heriot will back me up----” Beryl pinched her. “What are you dreaming about, with your face all screwed up?” she said. “Let’s go and see Mr. Heriot. How those two men do loiter! If they’re going, why don’t they go?” Andria stared at her. Beryl--Raimond--Heriot--what a tangle it was! And would Heriot back her up? He knew nothing of her but that she had been called “the Lovely Andria,” and had been thought to have fastened like a leech on Raimond Erle, dragging him to that financial ruin which had certainly overtaken him--though not through her, Heaven knew! And when Heriot saw Raimond here, he would never believe Andria was not in the whole scheme, let it be what it might. “I don’t care what he thinks!” she reflected swiftly. “Nothing matters to me but Raimond. And I may be wronging him. Egerton may be trying to keep me out of his way.” She turned impulsively to Beryl. “Stay here,” she said impetuously, “wait for me. I don’t know what to do. I must go and think.” But it was not to think that she ran out into the gardens, brushing by Salome, who tried to stop her in the hall to say something--what, Andria neither knew nor cared. Only one thing was in her mind--to find out why Raimond Erle was here, if not for her. Why should she believe Egerton; who had lied to her before?