Minna looked mournfully out to sea, and clasped her hands in her lap. A pathetic attitude, somewhat out of harmony with the daffodil toilette and the unblushing hat. “Pleasures would be tolerable were it not that one has to live so as to enjoy them,” she said, after a pause. “You have come by your pessimism early in life,” he observed. “I’ve not had much to encourage optimism, as you may be aware, Mr. Merriam.” “You had a bad bout, of course. So did we all,” said Gerard. “But you have had time to recover.” “What are you going to do with your money?” she asked. “Oh--I don’t know. Buy an estate in my own county--Norfolk--and settle down to squiredom. Breed stock and preserve pheasants and that sort of thing.” “Will you be glad to get back?” “I suppose so. Every one is, in a way. Wouldn’t you?” “I loathe England and all that it contains too much,” she said with bitterness. “And I can’t understand your wanting to return, either.” The first allusion to past events was followed by a short silence, during which each took mental stock of the other. The circumstances in which they had met had led naturally to a false assumption of friendliness. Now each was abruptly reminded of the very distant acquaintance that had existed between them, and of the strange part each had played in the other’s life. Minna’s expansion had been due to gratitude to him for having effectually rid her of Boissy, and to the novelty of talking to a big, lumbering Englishman. Realising, however, who he was, she shrank within herself. A queer cold touch, which she could not explain, pressed around her heart. She had felt it before. Once, on the night, three years ago, when she had seen Hugh and Irene at the Haymarket Theatre. She moved slightly away from him with a sense of dislike. And yet his blunt, indifferent manner of speech pricked her vanity. He had thrown an admiring glance neither upon herself nor her costume. He should pay her some kind of homage whether she disliked him or not. “It’s funny my tumbling upon you like that,” he remarked at last. “We generally choose dramatic moments for our interviews,” said Minna cynically. “Yes, by Jove. The last one seems a long time ago, doesn’t it?” “Not to me,” said Minna. “But then, you see, I haven’t been gold-hunting at the ends of the earth. I’ve been living rapidly round a roulette-board. I suppose you know that the mystery of my poor father’s death was cleared up.” “I saw it in the Cape papers. I was very glad.” There was another pause. Minna broke its discomfort by a casual allusion to the beauties of Monte Carlo. “You have nothing like this in South Africa,” she said. “I wish we had,” he replied. “If things were always as jolly as this, I should never want to get out of Europe.”