"I don't believe you are the least bit in earnest," she observed. "You are one of these contradictory people who look serious, and are always laughing at life." He scrutinised the smiling face with added interest. "I don't as a rule take life seriously," he returned,--"and a very good rule too. If I am not mistaken, Mrs Arnott, it is a rule you practise yourself." "I don't know about that," Pamela said in her bright, young voice. "I take each day as it comes, and make the most of it. That's the best way, really." "For you, perhaps," he answered. "But some of us would have a dull time if we had no to-morrow in contemplation. I have no quarrel with to-day, for instance; but there are days in my life I could cheerfully wipe off the calendar." "There used to be those kind of days in my life once," she rejoined. She looked up at him, smiling, so radiant in her gladness that he was forced to smile in sympathy with it. "They make the present so much jollier," she said. "You enjoy by comparison," he returned. "I suppose that's it--in a way; yes. When you have followed my advice you will do that too." "The same prescription doesn't fit every case," he ventured. "It doesn't cure every complaint," she allowed; "but it will cure yours." "Mine being?" he asked with an uplift of the brows. "Loneliness." He laughed at this diagnosis, and Pamela laughed with him. "No woman ought to prescribe for that complaint," he said, "unless she is prepared to provide the remedy." "Ah! the patient has to find that for himself." "And suppose it happens to be out of his reach?--suppose it runs away?" Pamela looked thoughtful. "There's an endless supply of the remedy always at hand," she returned presently. "That's merely another version of the fishes in the sea," he answered. "But when I've shaped my appetite to sole, mackerel is no substitute. I've hauled in my line... I think you might have offered more original advice than that," he added, slightly aggrieved. "I wash my hands of your case," she said. "You aren't needing advice. You are entirely satisfied with your life as it is." "Yes," he agreed. "I am borrowing a leaf from your book and enjoying the now." CHAPTER THREE. The following afternoon Dare called upon Pamela, and was glad to find her at home and alone. He was returning the next day to Johannesburg, he explained, and was not likely to be in Cape Town again for some time. Pamela entertained him in the garden, and gave him tea under the trees on the lawn. She expressed regret for her husband's absence: he had motored into town, and would not be home before seven. "He will be so sorry to miss you," she said. "You had better stay and dine with us." He thanked her, but declined the invitation, pleading a prior engagement. The absence of Arnott occurred to him as rather an agreeable accident; Mrs Arnott's sole company was sufficient for his enjoyment.