The Duke winced inwardly. "I am not a fugitive from justice," he said, with the mental addition of "yet." He could not tell this laughing maiden that the man was probably spying on him in the interest, not of justice, but of crime—to see that he was true to a pledge to place forged bonds; for now that he had been put on his guard he had no doubt that his pretty informant was right. The stranger occupied the cabin next to him, and was always hovering near him in the smoking-room, unobtrusively but persistently. Thanking the girl for her warning in a careless tone that implied that he had no reason to be anxious, he changed the subject. But before he turned in that night he made it his business to ascertain from his bedroom steward the name of his next-door neighbor, which proved to be Marker. "Probably Mr. Marker’s functions are confined to espionage. If that is a sample of the sort of bravo to be employed should I kick over the traces, I haven’t much to fear," he reflected, as he switched off the electric light and composed himself to dream of Leonie Sherman. CHAPTER III—_A Task-master in Goggles_ The next morning the _St. Paul_ arrived at Southampton, but Beaumanoir contrived to secure a seat in the same compartment of the boat-train, and his parting with his new friends was therefore deferred till they reached Waterloo. He was sorely tempted to enlist the elder lady’s favor by making known his proper style and rank; though, to do her justice, Mrs. Sherman’s fondness for the peerage was largely a humorous fiction on her daughter’s part. The Senator’s wife was really a simple-minded body, with an abiding admiration for the unattainable, and the British aristocracy was naturally included in that category. But the sight of Mr. Marker’s covert-coat hovering near them on the arrival platform checked the Duke’s intention, which the next moment was rendered unnecessary by Mrs. Sherman herself. "Come and see us, Mr. Hanbury," she said, extending the tips of her fingers in farewell. "We are to be the guests of some good friends of ours at 140 Grosvenor Gardens, and we know them well enough to make ourselves at home. The Senator will be over in a week or two, and he’ll be glad to thank you for your politeness." "I will pay my respects without fail," Beaumanoir responded; and a minute later, after a warmer pressure of Leonie’s well-gloved hand, he stood watching their cab with its load of "saratogas" drive down the incline. By the void in his heart he knew that the girl in the coquettish toque, who had just repeated her mother’s invitation with her eyes, was all the world to him.