At the Millard, Mr. Waddy and Peter Skerrett found Mr. Budlong just arrived. He came up to them with his now anxious manner. “That beggar of a Frenchman has come home pretty well bunged up,” he said. “He has sent word that he wants to see me. I wish you would go, Peter, my boy, and talk to him. I can’t guess what it means. If he wants to borrow money, lend him.” Mrs. Budlong came in with Belden. She gave her husband a couple of fingers of welcome. Millard’s band was playing and she, with several other untiring females, organised a hop. Peter Skerrett went off to see De Châteaunéant. It was late when he came down. He found Mr. Waddy waiting on the piazza, his cigar oddly lurid in the mosquitoless moonlight. “He makes conditions,” said Peter, “the infernal shabby wretch! He says if they don’t give him Miss Arabella, he’ll expose Mrs. Budlong. He pretends to have proofs; and I’m sorry to say that I fear he has them. I could have beaten him to death, the contemptible cuss! if he hadn’t been lying there in bed, sick and swelled like a pumpkin. He can’t show to-morrow and we shall have all day to work.” “He’ll sell out, won’t he, Peter?” asked Mr. Waddy. “I haven’t contributed to foreign missions yet, and here’s an opportunity. We’ll try and arrange it to-morrow.” Dunstan called late at Mr. Waddie’s. Clara saw him. “Diana is doing well,” she said. “We will have good hope,” and in her fair beauty by the moonlight she seemed to him an angel of hope. He could not see her tears as she turned away and fled from him, and from herself, to Diana’s bedside. All night he walked and wandered on the cliffs, watching the light in Diana’s window. Sometimes he thought he saw another figure wandering like himself; but always when he approached, he found some uncertain deceptive object, shrub or rock. He was alone in the moonlight, with his memories, his hopes, his despairs. Alone in the wide world with his love. Dying? No! He would not interpret thus the melancholy fall of waves. Mr. Belden was rather late that night. He had been walking somewhere with Mrs. Budlong--very late somewhere with Mrs. Budlong; he sat in his room reflecting. “Hell!” said he again. “I’ve lost the Diana chance, whether she meant to cheat me or not. Well, I’m sure of my bet on the race; and if the worst comes to the worst, I’m glad to know that Betty Bud has some money of her own. I’m sure of her. That job is done.” I am afraid Belden was becoming a very vulgar ruffian. He had very soon, in coarser amours, drowned his first disappointment for the loss of Diana. CHAPTER XX CHIN CHIN AND PETER SKERRETT SEIZE THE FORELOCK OF OPPORTUNITY Mr. Dulger arose in the morning dull and early. He stood several hours over the industrious prolétaire who was mending Miss Center’s parasol. Meantime Billy smoked weak cigars, pulled at his sporadic moustache, and studied at a formula of words he meant to use, but would forget.